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S. G. and E. L. ELBERT 


J Hrll^a, 

JTrc^tuln^ (tit ELLA SMITH ELB EBT «88 




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in 2012 with funding from 

Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries 



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Go, little book, from this my solitude ! 

I cast thee on the waters — go thy ways ! 
And if, as I believe, thy vein be good. 

The world will find thee after many days," 









Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1854, by 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts. 

stereotyped by 


New England Type and Stereotype Foundry, 




While I feel conscious that most of the contents of 
these Letters will be interesting chiefly to American 
readers, yet I may indulge the hope that the fact of 
their being the first production of a Fugitive Slave as 
a history of travels may carry with them novelty 
enough to secure for them, to some extent, the atten- 
tion of the reading public of Great Britain. Most of 
the letters were written for the private perusal of a few 
personal friends in America ; some were contributed to 
Frederick Douglass^ Paper^ a journal published in 
the United States. In a printed circular sent some 
weeks since to some of my friends, asking subscriptions 
to this volume, I stated the reasons for its publication : 
these need not be repeated here. To those who so 
promptly and kindly responded to that appeal, I tender 
my most sincere thanks. It is with no little diffidence 


that I lay these letters before the public ; for I am not 
blind to the fact that they must contain many errors ; 
and to those who shall find fault with them on that ac- 
count, it may not be too much for me to ask them kindly 
to remember that the author was a slave in one of the 
Southern States of America until he had attained the 
age of twenty years; and that the education he has 
acquired was by his own exertions, he never having had 
a day's schooling in his life. 


22 Cecil Street, Strand, 



During my sojourn abroad I found it advantageous to my 
purse to publish a book of travels, which I did under the title of 
*' Three Years in Europe, or Places! have seen and People I have 
met." The work was reviewed by the ablest journals in Great 
Britain, and from their favorable criticisms I have been induced 
to offer it to the American public, with a dozen or more addi- 
tional chapters. W. W. B. 

Boston, November, 185-1. 



Memoir op the Author, .,,,,,<,,,,,,,,,,.,,,,,,,. 9 


Departure from Boston — The Passengers — Halifax — The Passage — Pirst Sight of 
Land — Liverpool, 85 


Trip to Ireland — Dublin — Her Majesty's Visit — Illumination of the City — The 
Birthplace of Thomas Moore — A Reception, . . ............. 42 


Departure from Ireland — London — Trip to Paris — Paris — The Peace Congress-. 
First Day — Church of the Madeleine — Column Vendome — The Prench, . . 51 


Versailles — The Palace — Second Session of the Congress — Mr. Cobden — Henry 
Vincent — M. Girardin — Abbe Duguerry — Victor Hugo : his Speech, ... 64 


M. de-Tocqueville's Grand Soiree — Madame de Tocqueville — Visit of the Peace Dele- 
gates to Versailles — The Breakfast — Speech-making — The Trianons — Water- 
works—St. Cloud — The Fete, ... o »,,.,,,,,.,..,... 73 


The Tuileries — Place de la Concorde — The Egyptian Obelisk — Palais Royal — 
Residence of Robespierre — A Visit to the Room in which Charlotte Corday killed 
Marat — Church de Notre Dame — Palais de Justice — Hotel des Inralides — 

National Assembly — The Elysee, . .,,,... 80 




The Chateau at Versailles — Private Apartments of Marie Antoinette — The Secret 
Door — Paintings of Raphael and David — Arc de Triomphe — Beranger the 
Poet, 91 


Departure from Paris — Boulogne — Polkstone — London — George Thompson, Esq., 
M.P. — Hartwell House — Dr. Lee — Cottage of the Peasant — Windsor Castle 
— Residence of William Penn — England's First Welcome — Heath Lodge —The 
Bank of England, 98 


The British Museum — A Portrait — Night Reading — A Dark Day — A Fugitive 
Slave on the Streets of London— A Friend in the Time of Need, 113 


The Whittington Club — Louis Blanc — Street Amusements — Tower of London — 
Westminster Abbey — National Gallery — Dante — Sir Joshua Reynolds . 123 


York Minster — The Great Organ — Newcastle-on-Tyne — The Laboring Classes' — 
The American Slave — Sheffield — James Montgomery, 136 


Kirkstall Abbey — Mary the Maid of the Inn — Newstead Abbey : Residence of Lord 
Byron — Parish Church of Hucknall — Burial-place of Lord Byron, . . . 145 


Bristol : " Cook's Folly " — Chepstow Castle and Abbey — Tintern Abbey — Redcliffe 
Church — Edinburgh — The Royal Institute — Scott's Monument — John Knox's 
Pulpit — Meetings in City Hall, Glasgow, 154 


Stirling — Dundee — Dr. Dick — George GilfiUan, the Essayist — Dr. Dick at home, 


Melrose Abbey — Abbotsford — Dryburgh Abbey — The Grave of Sir Walter Scott — 
Hawick — Gretna Green — Visit to the Lakes, 173 


Miss Martineau — " The Knoll " — " Rydal Mount " — " The Dove's Nest " -— Grave 
of William Wordsworth, Esq. — The English Peasant, 182 


A Day in the Crystal Palace — Thomas Carlyle, , 193 


The London Peace Congress — Meeting of Fugitive Slaves — Temperance Demonstra- 
tion — The Great Exhibition: Last Yisit, 202 


Oxford — Martyrs' Monument — Cost of the Burning of the Martyrs — The Colleges 

— Dr. Pusey — Energy the Secret of Success, • 208 


Fugitive Slaves in England — Great Meeting in Hall of Commerce, London, . . . 215 


Visit to Stratford upon Avon — Shakspeare's Birth-place — His Grave — George 
Dawson, Esq., , , 223 


Visit to Ludlow — The Wet Sheets — Landlady in a Fix — Ludlow Castle — Milton's 
Comus — Butler's Hudibras — Visit to Hereford — Birth-places of Garrick, Mrs. 
Siddons, Nell Gwynne, , , . , 230 


A, Fashionable Dinner Party — Cowley, the Poet — Eesidence of Alexander Pope — 
His Merits as a Poet, 240 


Birth-place of Robert Burns — His Monument — Tarn O'Shanter and Souter Johnny 

— The Shell Palace — Newark Castle — Highland Mary, 247 


The Thames Tunnel — Colosseum — Swiss Cottage — Its Mysteries and its Beauties, 



Visit to a Burial-ground — Epitaph on the Grave of a Wife — A Warning to the 
Fair Sex, 259 


Scotland — Aberdeen — Passage by Water — Edinburgh — George Combe, . . 262 



Joseph Jenkins, the African Genius — His Street- sweeping — Bill-distributing — 
Psalm-singing — Othello — And his Preaching, 268 


Monument to Thomas Hood — Eliza Cook- Murdo Young — Milnes, the Poet, 276 


A Night in the House of Commons — A Bird's-eye View of its Members — Hastie, 
Layard, Hume, the Father of the House, Edward Miall, W. J. Fox, Macaulay, 
Richard Cobden, Gladstone the Orator, Disraeli the Jew, Lord Dudley Stuart, 
Lord John Russell — A Debate in the House — People in the Gallery — Sir 
Edward Bulwer Lytton, 282 


Anniversary of West India Emancipation — Francis W. Kellogg — British Hatred 
of Oppression — A Singular Recognition — Lady Noel Byron and Ellen Craft, 296 


Thoughts on leaving for America — Acquaintances made in Great Britain — John 
Bishop Estlin — Departure in the Steamer " City of Manchester " — Peculiarities 
of Passengers — Irish, Germans, and Gypsies — Reception at Philadelphia — 
Anti-Christian Prejudices there — Design in Returning — Reflections, . . .303 

I^mair 0f l\}j ^utfjor. 

" Shall tongues be mute when deeds are wrought 
Which well might shame extremest Hell ? 
Shall freemen lack the indignant thought ? 
Shall Mercy's bosom cease to sAvell ? 
Shall Honor bleed ? — shall Truth succumb ? 
Shall pen, and press, and soul be dumb? " — TVhittier, 

William Wells Beown, the subject of this narra- 
tive, was born a slave in Lexington, Kentucky, not far 
from the residence of the late Hon. Henry Clay. His 
mother was the slave of Dr. John Young. His father 
was a slaveholder, and, besides being a near relation of 
his master, was connected with the Wickliffe family, one 
of the oldest, wealthiest, and most aristocratic of the 
Kentucky planters. Dr. Young was the owner of forty 
or fifty slaves, whose chief employment was in cultivating 
tobacco, hemp, corn, and flax. The doctor removed from 
Lexington, when William was five or six years old, to the 
State of Missouri, and commenced farming in a beautiful 
and fertile valley, within a mile of the Missouri river. 

Here the slaves were put to work und^r a harsh and 
cruel overseer, named Cook. A finer situation for a farm 
could not have been selected in the state. With climate 
favorable to agriculture, and soil rich, the products came 


in abundance. At an early age William was separated 
from his mother, she being worked in the field, and he as 
a servant in his master's medical department, When 
about ten years of age, the young slave's feelings were 
much hurt at hearing the cries of his mother while being 
flogged by the negro-driver for being a few minutes behind 
the other hands in reaching the field. He heard her cry, 
^' 0, pray ! 0, pray ! 0, pray ! " These are the words 
which slaves generally utter when imploring mercy at 
the hands of their oppressors. The son heard it, though 
he was some way off. He heard the crack of the whip, 
and the groans of his poor mother. The cold chill ran 
over him, and he wept aloud ; but he was a slave like 
his mother, and could render her no assistance. He was 
taught by the most bitter experience, that nothing could 
be more heart-rending than to see a dear and beloved 
mother or sister tortured by unfeeling men, and to hear 
her cries, and not to be able to render the least aid. 
When William was twelve years of age, his master left 
his farm and took up his residence near St. Louis. The 
doctor having more hands than he wanted for his own 
use, William was let out to a Mr. Freeland, an innkeeper. 
Here the young slave found himself in the hands of a 
most cruel and heartless master. Freeland was one of 
the real chivalry of the South ; besides being himself a 
slaveholder, he was a horse-racer, cock-fighter, gambler, 
and, to crown the whole, an inveterate drunkard. What 
else but bad treatment could be expected from such a 
character ? After enduring the tyrannical and inhuman 
usage of this man for five or six months, William resolved 
to stand it no longer, and therefore ran away, like other 
slaves who leave their masters, owing to severe treatment ; 


and not knowing where to flee, the young fugitive went into 
the forest, a few miles from St. Louis. He had been in 
the woods but a short time, when he heard the barking 
and howling of dogs, and was soon satisfied that he was 
pursued by the negro-dogs : and, aware of their ferocious 
nature, the fugitive climbed a tree, to save himself from 
being torn to pieces. The hounds were soon at the trunk 
of the tree, and remained there, howling and barking, 
until those in whose charge they were came up. The 
slave was ordered dovfn, tied, and taken home. Immedi- 
ately on Ids arrival there, he was, as he expected, tied up 
in the smoke-house, and whipped till Freeland was satis- 
fied, and then smoked with tobacco-stems. This the 
slaveholder called '^ Virginia 'playP After being well 
whipped and smoked, he was again set to work. William 
remained with this monster a few months longer, and was 
then let out to Elijah P. Lovejoy, who years after be- 
came the editor of an abolition newspaper, and was 
murdered at Alton, Illinois, by a mob of slaveholders 
from the adjoining State of Missouri. The system of 
letting out slaves is one among the worst of the evils of 
slavery. The man who hires a slave looks upon him in 
the same light as does the man who hires a horse for a 
limited period ; he feels no interest in him, only to get 
the worth of his money. Not so with the man who ovfns 
the slave ; he regards him as so much property, of which 
care should be taken. After being let out to a steamer 
as an under-steward, William was hired by James Walker, 
a slave-trader. Here the subject of our memoir was ^ 
made superintendent of the gangs of slaves that were 
taken to the New Orleans market. In this capacity, 
William had opportunities, far greater than most slaves, 


of acquiring knowledge of the different phases of the 
'-^peculiar institution.'^'' Walker was a negro specu- 
lator, who was amassing a fortune by trading in the bones, 
blood and nerves, of God's children. The thought of 
such a traffic cause3 us to exclaim with the poet, 

*' Is tliere not some chosen curse, 

Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven. 
Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man 
Who gains his fortune from the blood of souls ? " 

Between fifty and sixty slaves were chained together, 
put on board a steamboat bound for New Orleans, and 
started on the voyage. New and strange scenes began 
to inspire the young slave with the hope of escaping to a 
land of freedom. There was in the boat a large room on 
the lower deck in which the slaves were kept, men and 
w^omen promiscuously, all chained two and two together, 
not even leaving the poor slaves the privilege of choosing 
their partners. A strict watch was kept over them, so 
that they had no chance of escape. Cases had occurred 
in which slaves had got off their chains and made their 
escape at the landing-places, while the boat stopped to 
take in w^ood. But, with all their care, they lost one 
woman who had been taken from her husband and chil- 
dren, and, having no desire to live without them, in the 
agony of her soul jumped overboard and drowned herself 
Her sorrows were greater than she could bear ; slavery 
and its cruel inflictions had broken her heart. She, like 
William, sighed for freedom, but not the freedom which 
even British soil confers and inspires, but freedom from 
torturing pangs, and overwhelming grief. 

At the end of the week they arrived at New Orleans, 
the place of their destination. Here the slaves were 


placed in a negro-pen, where those who wished to pur- 
chase could call and examine them. The negro-pen is a 
small yard surrounded by buildings, from fifteen to 
twenty feet wide, with the exception of a large gate with 
iron bars. The slaves are kept in the buildings during 
the night, and turned into the pen during the day. After 
the best of the gang were sold off, the balance was taken 
to the Exchange Coffee-house auction-rooms, and sold at 
public auction. After the sale of the last slave, William 
and Mr. Walker left New Orleans for St. Louis. 

After they had been at St. Louis a few weeks, another 
cargo of human flesh was made up. There were amongst 
the lot several old men and women, some of whom had 
gray locks. On their way down to New Orleans William 
had to prepare the old slaves for market. He was 
ordered to shave off the old men's whiskers, and to pluck 
out the gray hairs where they were not too numerous ; 
where they were, he colored them mth. a preparation of 
blacking with a blacking-brush. After having gone 
through the blacking process, they looked ten or fifteen 
years younger. William, though not well skilled in the 
use of scissors and razor, performed the office of the bar- 
ber tolerably. After the sale of this gang of negroes 
they returned to St. Louis, and a second cargo was made 
up. In this lot was a woman who had a child at the 
breast, yet was compelled to travel through the interior 
of the country on foot with the other slaves. In a pub- 
lished m^emoir of his life, William says, ''The child cried 
during the most of the day, which displeased Mr. Walker, 
and he told the mother that if her child did not stop cry- 
ing he would stop its mouth. After a long and weary 
journey under a burning sun, we put up for the night 


at a country inn. The following morning, just as they 
were about to start, the child again commenced crying. 
Walker stepped up to her, and told her to give the child 
to him. The mother tremblingly obeyed. He took the 
child by one arm, as any one would a cat by the leg, 
and walked into the house where they had been staying, 
and said to the lady, ^ Madam, I will make you a present 
of this little nigger ; it keeps making such a noise that I 
can't bear it.' ' Thank you, sir,' said the lady. The 
mother, as soon as she saw that the child was to be left, 
ran up to Mr. Walker, and, falling on her knees, begged 
of him, in an agony of despair, to let her have her child. 
She clung round his legs so closely that for som^e time 
he could not kick her off; and she cried, ^ my child, 
my child ! Master, do let me have my dear, dear child ! 
! do, do ! I will stop its crying, and love you forever, 
if you will only let me have my child again.' But her 
prayers were not heeded ; they passed on, and the mother 
was separated from her child forever. 

'^ After the woman's child had been given away, Mr. 
Walker rudely commanded her to retire into the ranks 
with the other slaves. Women who had children were 
not chained, but those who had none were. As soon as 
her child was taken she vfas chained to the gang." 

Nothing was more grievous to the sensitive feelings 
of William than seeing the separation of families by the 
slave-trader : husbands taken from their wives, and 
mothers from their children, without the least appear- 
ance of feeling on the part of those w^ho separated them. 
While at New Orleans, on one occasion, William saw a 
slave murdered. The circumstances were as follows : 
In the evening, between seven and eight o'clock, a slave 


came running down the levee, followed by several men 
and boys. The whites were crying out, '' Stop that nig- 
ger ! stop that nigger ! '' w^hile the poor panting slave, 
in almost breathless accents, was repeating, ' ' I did not 
steal the meat — I did not steal the meat ! '' The poor 
man at last took refuge in the river. The whites who 
were in pursuit of him ran on board of one of the boats to 
see if they could discover him. They finally espied him 
under the bow of the steamboat ^'Trenton." They got 
a pike-pole, and tried to drive him from his hiding-place. 
When they struck at him he would dive under the water. 
The water was so cold that it soon became evident 'that 
he must come out or be drowned. 

While they were trying to drive him from under the 
boat or drown him, he, in broken and imploring accents, 
said, ^^I did not steal the meat ! /I did not steal the meat! 
My master lives up the river. I want to see my master. 
I did not steal the meat ! Do let me go home to master ! " 
After punching and striking him x)ver the head for some 
time, he at last sunk in the water, to rise no more alive. 

On the end of the pike-pole with which they had been 
striking him was a hook, which caught in his clothing, 
and they hauled him up on the bow of the boat. Some 
said he was dead; others said he was ^' playing 'pos- 
sum;'^ w^hile others kicked him to make him get up ; but 
it was of no use — he was dead. 

As soon as they became satisfied of this, they com- 
menced leaving, one after another. One of the hands 
on the boat informed the captain that they had killed the 
man, and that the dead body w^as lying on the deck. 
The captain, whose name was Hart, came on deck, and 
said to those who were remaining, " You have killed this 


nigger ; now take him off my boat." The dead body was 
dragged on shore and left there. William went on board 
of the boat where the gang of slaves were, and during 
the whole night his mind was occupied with what he had 
seen. Early in the morning he went on shore to see if 
the dead body remained there. He found it in the 
same position that it was left the night before. He 
watched to see what they would do with it. It was left 
there until between eight and nine o'clock, when a cart, 
which took up the trash from the streets, came along, 
and the body was thrown in, and in a few minutes more 
was covered over with dirt, which they were removing 
from the streets. 

At the expiration of the period of his hiring with 
Walker, William returned to his master, rejoiced to have 
escaped an employment as much against his own feelings 
as it was repugnant to human nature. But this joy was 
of short duration. The doctor wanted money, and 
resolved to sell William's sister and two brothers. The 
mother had been previously sold to a gentleman residing 
in the city of St. Louis. William's master now informed 
him that he intended to sell him, and, as he was his own 
nephew, he gave him the privilege of finding some one to 
purchase him, who would treat him better than if he 
was sold on the auction-block. William tried to make 
some arrangement by which he could purchase his own 
freedom, but the old doctor would hear nothing of the 
kind. If there is one thing more revolting in the trade 
of human flesh than another, it is the selling of one's 
own blood relations. 

He accordingly set out for the city in search of a new 
master. When he arrived there, he proceeded to the 


jail with the hope of seeing his sister, but was again 
disappointed. On the following morning he made another 
attempt, and was allowed to see her once, for the last 
time. When he entered the room where she was seated 
in one corner, alone and disconsolate, there were four 
other women in the room, belonging to the same man, 
who were bought, the jailer said, for the master's own 

William's sister was seated with her face towards the 
door when he entered, but her gaze was transfixed on 
nothingness, and she did not look up when he walked up 
to her ; but as soon as she observed him she sprang up, 
threw her arms around his neck, leaned her head upon 
his breast, and, without uttering a word, in silent, inde- 
scribable sorrow, burst into tears. She remained so for 
some minutes, but when she recovered herself sufficiently 
to speak she urged him to take his mother immediately, 
and try to get to the land of freedom. She said there 
was no hope for herself; she must live and die a slave. 
After giving her some advice, and taking a ring from his 
finger, he bade her farewell forever. Eeader, did ever a 
fair sister of thine go down to the grave prematurely ? 
If so, perchance thou hast drank deeply from the cup of 
sorrow. But how infinitely better is it for a sister to 
'•go into the silent land" with her honor untarnished, 
but with bright hopes, than for her to be sold to sensual 
slaveholders ! 

William had been in the city now two days, and, as 
he was to be absent for only a week, it was well that he 
should make the best use of his time, if he intended to 
escape. In conversing with his mother, he found her 
unwilling to make the attempt to reach the land of lib- 


erty, but she advised him by all means to get there 
himself, if he possibly could. She said, as all her chil- 
dren were in slavery, she did not wish to leave them ; 
but he loved his mother so intensely, that he could not 
think of leaving without her. He consequently used all 
his simple eloquence to induce her to fly with him, and, at 
last, he prevailed. They consequently fixed upon the next 
night as the time for their departure. The time at length 
arrived, and they left the city just as the clock struck 
nine. Having found a boat, they crossed the river in it. 
Whose boat it was he did not know ; neither did he care. 
When it had served his purpose, he turned it adrift, and 
when he saw it last it was going at a good speed down 
the river. After walking in the main road as fast as 
they could all night, when the morning came they made 
for the woods, and remained there during the day; but 
w^hen night came again, they proceeded on their journey, 
with nothing but the North Star to guide them. They 
continued to travel by night, and to bury themselves in 
the silent solitudes of the forest by day. Hunger and 
fatigue could not stop them, for the prospect of freedom 
at the end of the journey nerved them up. The very 
thought of leaving slavery, with its democratic whips, 
republican chains, and bloodhounds, caused the hearts of 
the weary fugitives to leap w^ith joy. After travelling ten 
nights, and hiding in the woods during the day for fear of 
being arrested and taken back, they thought they might 
w ith safety go the rest of their way by daylight. In nearly 
all the free states there are men who make a business of 
catching runaway slaves and returning them to their 
owners for the reward that may be offered ; some of those 
were on the alert for William and his mother, for they 


had already seen the runaways advertised in the St. Louis 

All at once they heard the click of a horse's hoof, and 
looking back saw three men on horseback galloping tow- 
ards them. They soon came up, and demanded them 
to stop. The three men dismounted, arrested them on a 
warrant, and showed them a handbill, offering two hun- 
dred dollars for their apprehension and delivery to Dr. 
Young and Isaac Mansfield, in St. Louis. 

While they were reading the handbill, William's mother 
looked him in the face and burst into tears. ^^A cold 
chill ran over me," savs he, ^' and such a sensation I 
never experienced before, and I trust I never shall 
ogain." They took out a rope and tied him, and they 
were taken back to the house of the individual who 
appeared to be the leader. They then had something 
given them to eat, and were separated. Each of them 
was watched over by two men during the night. The 
religious characteristic of the American slaveholder soon 
manifested itself, as, before the family retired to rest, 
they were all called together to attend prayers ; and the 
very man who, but a few hours before, had arrested poor, 
panting, fugitive slaves, now read a chapter from the 
Bible, and offered a prayer to God ; as if that benignant 
and omnipotent One consecrated the infernal act he had 
just committed. 

The next morning they were chained and handcuffed, 
and started back to St. Louis. A journey of three days 
brought the fugitives again to the place they had left 
twelve days previously, with the hope that they would 
never return. They were put in prison to await the 
orders of their owners. When a slave attempts to escape 


and failSj he feels sure of either being severely punished, 
or sold to the negro-traders and taken to the far south, 
there to be worked up on a cotton, sugar or rice planta- 
tion. This William and his mother dreaded. While 
they were in suspense as to what would be their fate, 
news came to them that the mother had been sold to a 
slave-speculator. William was soon sold to a merchant 
residing in the city, and removed to his new owner's 
dwelling. In a few days the gang of slaves, of which 
William's mother was one, were taken on board a steamer, 
to be carried to the New Orleans market. The young 
slave obtained permission from his new owner to go and 
take a last farewell of his mother. He went to the boat, 
and found her there, chained to another woman, and the 
whole number of slaves, amounting to some fifty or sixty, 
chained in the same manner. As the son approached his 
mother she moved not, neither did she weep ; her emo- 
tions were too deep for tears. William approached her, 
threw his arms around her neck, kissed her, fell upon 
his knees begging her forgiveness, for he thought he was 
to blame for her sad condition, and if he had not per- 
suaded her to accompany him she might not have been 
in chains then. 

She remained for some time apparently unimpression- 
able, tearless, sighless, but in the innermost depths of her 
heart moved mighty passions. William says, '' She 
finally raised her head, looked me in the face, — and such 
a look none but an angel can give ! — and said, ' My dear 
son, you are not to blame for my being here. You have 
done nothing more nor less than your duty. Do not, I 
pray you, weep for me ; I cannot last long upon a cotton 
plantation. I feel that my heavenly Master will soon 


call me home, and then I shall be out of the hands of 
the slaveholders.' I could hear no more; my heart 
struggled to free itself from the human form. In a mo- 
ment she saw Mr. Mansfield, her master, coming toward 
that part of the boat, and she whispered in my ear, ' My 
child, we must soon part to meet no more on this side 
of the grave. You have ever said that you would not 
die a slave ; that you would be a freeman. Now try to 
get your liberty ! You will soon have no one to look 
after but yourself ! ' and just as she whispered the last 
sentence into my ear, Mansfield came up to me, and, 
with an oath, said, ' Leave here this instant ! you have 
been the means of my losing one hundred dollars to get 
this wench back,' at the same time kicking me with a 
heavy pair of boots. As I left her she gave one shriek, 
saying, ^ God be with you ! ' It was the last time that I 
saw her, and the last word I heard her utter. 

^^ I walked on shore. The bell was tolling. The boat 
was about to start. I stood with a heavy heart, waiting 
to see her leave the wharf. As I thought of my mother, 
I could but feel that I had lost 

• The glory of my life, 

My blessing and my pride ! 
I half forgot the name of slave 
When she was by my side.' 

^^The love of liberty that had been burning in my 
bosom had well-nigh gone out. I felt as though I was 
ready to die. The boat moved gently from the wharf, 
and while she glided down the river I realized that my 
mother was indeed 

* Gone — gone — sold and gone 

To the rice-swamp, dank and lone.' 


''After the boat was out of sight I returned home; 
but my thoughts were so absorbed in what I had wit- 
nessed that I knew not what I was about. Night came, 
but it brought no sleep to my eyes." When once the 
love of freedom is born in the slave's mind, it always 
increases and brightens ; and William having heard so 
much about Canada, where a number of his acquaintances 
had found a refuge and a home, he heartily desired to 
join them. Building castles in the air in the day-time, 
incessantly thinking of freedom, he would dream of the 
land of liberty, but on waking in the morning would weep 

to find it but a dream. 

" He would dream of Victoria's domain. 

And in a moment lie seemed to Ibe there ; 
But the fear of being taken again 
Soon hurried him back to despair." 

Having been for some time employed as a servant in 
a hotel, and being of a very active turn, William's new 
owner resolved to let him out on board a steamboat. 
Consequently the young slave was hired out to the 
steamer St. Louis, and soon after sold to Captain Enoch 
Price, the owner of that boat. Here he was destined to 
remain but a short period, as Mrs. Price wanted a car- 
riage-driver, and had set her heart upon William for that 

Scarcely three months had elapsed from the time that 
William became the property of Captain Price, ere that 
gentleman's family took a pleasure-trip to New Orleans, 
and Vf illiam accompanied them. From New Orleans the 
family proceeded to Louisville. The hope of escape 
again dawned upon the slave's mind, and the trials of 


the past were lost in hopes for the future. The love of 
liberty, which had been burning in his bosom for years, 
and which, at times, had been well-nigh extinguished, 
was now resuscitated. Hopes nurtured in childhood, and 
strengthened as manhood dawned, now spread their sails 
to the gales of his imagination. At night, when all 

'around was peaceful, and in the mystic presence of the 
everlasting starlight, he would walk the steamer's decks, 
meditating on his happy prospects, and summoning up 
gloomy reminiscences of the dear hearts he was leaying 
behind him. When not thinking of the future his mind 
Avould dwell on the past. The love of a dear mother, a 
dear and affectionate sister, and three brothers yet living, 
caused him to shed many tears. If he could only be 
assured of their being dead, he would have been compar- 
atively happy; but he saw, in imagination, his mother 
in the cotton-field, followed by a monster task-master, 
and no one to speak a consoling word to her. _. He beheld 
his sister in the hands of the slave-driver, compelled to 
submit to his cruelty, or, what was unutterably worse, 
his lust ; but still he was far away from them, and could 

■ not do anything for them if he remained in slavery ; 
consequently he resolved, and consecrated the resolve with 
a prayer, that he would start on the first opportunity. 

That opportunity soon presented itself When the 
boat got to the wharf where it had to stay for some time, 
at the first convenient moment William made towards the 
woods, where he remained until night-time. He dared 
not walk during the day, even in the State of Ohio, he 
had seen so much of the perfidy of white men, and 
resolved, if possible, not to get into their hands. After 
darkness covered the world, he emerged from his hiding- 


place ; but he did not know east from west, or north from 
south ; clouds hid the North Star from his view. In 
this desolate condition he remained for some hours, when 
the clouds rolled away, and his friend, with its shining 
face, — the North Star, — welcomed his sight. True as 
the needle to the pole, he obeyed its attractive beauty, and 
walked on till daylight dawned. 

It was winter-time ; the day on which he started was 
the first of January, and, as it might be expected, it was 
intensely cold ; he had no overcoat, no food, no friend, 
save the North Star, and the God which made it. How 
ardently must the love of freedom burn in the poor 
slave's bosom, when he will pass through so many difli- 
culties, and even look death in the face, in winning his 
birthright freedom ! But what crushed the poor slave's 
heart in his flight most was, not the want of food or 
clothing, but the thought that every white man was his 
deadly enemy. Even in the free States the prejudice 
against color is so strong, that there appears to exist a 
deadly antagonism between the white and colored races. 

William in his flight carried a tinder-box with him, 
and when he got very cold he would gather together dry 
leaves and stubble and make a fire, or certainly he would 
have perished. He was determined to enter into no 
house, fearing that he might meet a betrayer. 

It must have been a picture which would have inspired 
an artist, to see the fugitive roasting the ears of corn that 
he found or took from barns during the night, at solitary 
fires in the deep solitudes of woods. 

The sufiering of the fugitive was greatly increased by 
the cold, from the fact of his having just come from the 
warm climate of New Orleans. Slaves seldom have more 


than one name, and William was not an exception to this, 
and the fugitive began to think of an additional name. 
^ A heavy rain of three days, in which it froze as fast as it 
fell, and by which the poor fugitive was completely 
drenched, and still more chilled, added to the depression 
of his spirits already created by his weary journey. 
Nothing but the fire of hope burning within his breast 
could have sustained him under such overwhelming trials. 

*' Behind he left the whip and chains ; 
Before him were sweet Freedom's plains. " 

Through cold and hunger, William was now ill, and 
he could go no further. The poor fugitive resolved to 
seek protection, and accordingly hid himself in the woods 
near the road, until some one should pass. ^,oon a trav- 
eller came along, but the slave dared not speak. A few 
moments more and a second passed ; the fugitive at- 
tempted to speak, but fear deprived him of voice. A 
third made his appearance. He wore a broad-brimmed 
hat and a long coat, and was evidently walking only for 
exercise. WilHam scanned him well, and, though not 
much skilled in physiognomy, he concluded he was the 
man. William approached him, and asked him if he 
knew any one who would help him, as he was sick. The 
gentleman asked whether he was not a slave. The poor 
slave hesitated ; but, on being told that he had nothing 
to fear, he answered ''Yes.'' The gentleman told him 
he was in a pro-slavery neighborhood, but, if he would 
wait a little, he would go and get a covered wagon, and 
convey him to his house. After he had gone, the fugi- 
tive meditated whether ^he should stay or not, being 
apprehensive that the broad-brimmed gentleman had 


gone for some one to assist him : he however concluded 
to remain. 

After waiting about an hour — an hour big with fate 
to him — he saw the covered- wagon making its appear- 
ance, and no one in it but the person he before accosted. 
Trembling with hope and fear, he entered the wagon, 
and vras carried to the person's house. When he got 
there, he still halted between two opinions, whether he 
should enter or take to his heels ; but he soon decided, 
after seeing the glowing face of the wife. He saw some- 
thing in her that bid him welcome, something that told 
him he would not be betrayed. 

He soon found that he was under the shed of a Quaker, 
and a Quaker of the George Fox stamp. He had heard 
of Quak^l^and their kindness ; but was not prepared to 
meet with such hospitality as now greeted him. He saw 
nothing but kind looks, and heard nothing but tender 
words. He began to feel the pulsations of a new exist- 
ence. White men always scorned him, but now a white 
benevolent woman felt glad to wait on him ; it was a rev- 
olution in his experience. The table was loaded with 
good things, but he could not eat. If he were allowed 
the privilege of sitting in the kitchen, he thought he 
could do justice to the viands. The surprise being over, 
his appetite soon returned. 

^' I have frequently been asked," says William, •' how 
I felt upon finding myself regarded as a man by a white 
family ; especially having just run away from one. I 
cannot say that I have ever answered the question yet. 
The fact that I was, in all probaHllity, a freeman, 
sounded in my ears like a charm. I am satisfied that ^ 
none but a slave could place such an appreciation upon 


liberty as I did at that time. I wanted to see my mother 
and sister, that I might tell them that ' I was free ! ' I 
wanted to see my fellow-slaves in St. Louis, and let them 
know that the chains were no longer upon my limbs. I 
wanted to see Captain Price, and let him learn from my 
own lips that I was no more a chattel, but a man. I 
was anxious, too, thus to inform Mrs. Price that she 
must get another coachman, and I wanted to see Eliza 
more than I did Mr. Price or Mrs. Price. The fact that 
I was a freeman — could walk, talk, eat, and sleep as a 
man, and no one to stand over me w^ith the blood-clotted 
cow-hide — all this made me feel that I was not myself." 

The kind Quaker, who so hospitably entertained Wil- 
liam, was called Wells Brown. He remained with him 
about a fortnight, during which time he was #ell fed and 
clothed. Before leaving, the Quaker asked him what was 
his name besides William. The fugitive told him he had 
no other. ^'Well," said he, ^Hhee must have another 
name. Since thee has got out of slavery, thee has be- 
come a man, and men always have two names." 

William told him that as he w^as the first man to ex- 
tend the hand of friendship to him, he would give him the 
privilege of naming him. 

''If I name thee," said he, ''I shall call thee Wells 
Brown, like myself" 

''But," said he, " I am not willing to lose my name 
of William. It was taken from me once against my will, 
and I am not willing to part with it on any terms." 

" Then,'' said the benevolent man, "I will call thee 
William Wells Brown." 

" So be it," said William Wells Brown, and he has 
been known by this name ever since. 


After giving the newly-christened freeman ^^ a name," 
the Quaker gave him something to aid him to get '^a 
local habitation." So, after giving him some money, 
Brown again started for Canada. In four days he 
reached a public-house, and went in to warm himself. 
He soon found that he was not out of the reach of his 
enemies. While warming himself, he heard some men in 
an adjoining bar-room talking about some runaway 
slaves^ He thought it was time to be off, and, suiting 
the action to the thought, he was soon in the woods out 
of sight. When night came, he returned to the road and 
walked on ; and so, for two days and two nights, till he 
was faint and ready to perish of hunger. 

In this condition he arrived in the town of Cleveland, 
Ohio, on th6 banks of Lake Erie, where he determined 
to remain until the spring of the year, and then to try 
and reach Canada. Here he was compelled to work 
merely for his food. 

Having tasted the sweets of freedom himself, his great 
desire was to extend its blessing to his race, and in the 
language of the poet he would ask himself, 

** Is true freedom but to break 
Fetters for our own d^ar sake. 
And with leathern hearts forget 
That we owe mankind a debt ? 

** No ! true freedom is to share 
All the chains our brothers wear, 
And with heart and hand to be 
Earnest to make others free." 

While acting as a servant to one of the steamers on Lake 
Erie, Brown often took fugitives from Cleveland and 
other ports to Buffalo, or Detroit, from either of which 
places they could cross to Canada in an hour. During 


the season of 1842^ this fugitive slave conveyed no less 
than sixty-nine runaway slaves across Lake Erie, and 
placed them safe on the soil of Canada. 

In proportion as his mind expanded under the more 
favorable circumstances in which he was placed, Brown 
became anxious, not merely for the redemption of his 
race from personal slavery, but for the moral and reli- 
gious elevation of those vrho were free. Finding that 
habits of intoxication wxre too prevalent among his 
colored brethren, he, in conjunction with others, com- 
menced a temperance reformation in their body. Such 
was the success of their efforts that, in three years, in 
the city of Buffalo alone, a society of upwards of five 
hundred members was raised out of a colored population 
of less than seven hundred. Of that society Mr. Brown 
was thrice elected president. 

In the spring of 1844 he became an agent of the West- 
ern New York Anti-Slavery Society, and afterwards 
spent some time in the service of the Massachusetts So- 
ciety. In 1849 Mr. Brown embarked for Europe as a 
delegate to the Paris Peace Conference. 

The reception of Mr. Brown at the Peace Congress, in 
Paris, was most flattering. He admirably maintained his 
reputation as a public speaker. His brief address upon 
that '-war spirit of America, which holds in bondage 
nearly four millions of his brethren,'' produced a pro- 
found sensation. At its conclusion the speaker was 
warmly greeted by Victor Hugo, the Abbe Duguerry, 
Emile de Girardin, Richard Cobden, and every man of 
note in the assembly. At the soiree given by M. de 
Tocqueville, the Minister for Foreign Aflkirs, and the 
3^ - 


other fetes given to the members of the Congress, Mr. 
Brown was received with marked attention. 

Having finished his peace mission in France, he re- 
turned to England, where he was received with a hearty 
welcome by some of the most influential abolitionists of 
that country. Most of the fugitive slaves, and, in fact, 
nearly all of the colored men who have visited Great 
Britain from the United States, have come upon begging 
missions, either for some society or for themselves. Mr. 
Brown has been almost the only exception. With that 
independence of feeling which those who are acquainted 
with him know to be one of his chief characteristics, he 
determined to maintain himself and family by his own 
exertions, — by his literary labors, and the honorable 
profession of a public lecturer. From nearly all the 
cities and large provincial towns he received invitations to 
lecture or address public meetings. The mayors, or other 
citizens of note, presided over many of these meetings. 
At Newcastle-upon-Tyne a soiree was given him, and an 
address presented by the citizens. A large and influen- 
tial meeting was held at Bolton, Lancashire, which was 
addressed by Mr. Brown, and at its close the ladies pre- 
sented to him the following address : 

" An Address presented to Mr. William Wells Brown, the Fugi- 
tive Slave from America, by the Ladies of Bolton, March 
22nd, 1850 : 

^^Dear Friend and Brother: We cannot permit 
you to depart from among us without giving expres- 
sion to the feelings which we entertain towards yourself 
personally, and to the sympathy which you have awak- 
ened in our breasts for the three millions of our sisters 
and brothers who still suffer and groan in the prison- 


house of American bondage. You came among us an 
entire stranger ; we received you for the sake of your 
mission ; and having heard the story of your personal 
wrongs, and gazed with horror on the atrocities of 
slavery as seen through the medium of your touching 
descriptionSj we are resolved, henceforward, in reliance 
on divine assistance, to render what aid we can to the 
cause which you have so eloquently pleaded in our 

^' We have no words to express our detestation of the 
crimes which, in the name of liberty, are committed in 
the country which gave you birth. Language fails to 
tell our deep abhor^rence of the impiety of those who, in 
the still more sacred name of rehgion, rob immortal be- 
ings not only of an earthly citizenship, but do much to 
prevent them from obtaining a heavenly one; and, as 
mothers and daughters, we embrace this opportunity of 
giving utterance to our utmost indignation at the cruel- 
ties perpetrated upon our sex, by a people professedly 
acknowledging the equality of all mankind. Carry with 
you, on your return to the land of your nativity, this our 
solemn protest against the wicked institution which, like 
a dark and baleful cloud, hangs over it ; and ask the un- 
feeling enslavers, as best you can, to open the prison- 
doors to them that are bound, and let the oppressed go 

''Allow us to assure you that your brief sojourn in 
our town has been to ourselves, and to vast multitudes, 
of a character long to be remembered ; and when you 
are far removed from us, and toiling, as we hope you 
may be long spared to do, in this righteous enterprise, it 
may be some solace to your mind to know that your 


name is cherished with affectionate regard, and that the 
blessing of the Most High is earnestly supplicated in 
behalf of yourself, your family, and the cause to which 
you have consecrated your distinguished talents/' 

A most respectable and enthusiastic public meeting 
W'as held at Sheffield to welcome Mr. Brown, and the 
next day he was invited to inspect several of the large 
establishments there. While going through the manu- 
factory of Messrs. Broadhead and Atkin, silver and elec- 
tro platers, &c., in Love-street, and whilst he was being 
shown through the works, a subscription was hastily set 
on foot on his behalf, by the workmen and w^omen of the 
establishment, which was presented to Mr. Brown, in the 
counting-house, by a deputation of the subscribers. The 
spokesman (the designer to Messrs. Broadhead & Atkin), 
addressing Mr. Brown on behalf of the work-people, 
begged his acceptance of the present as a token of es- 
teem, as well as an expression of their sympathy in the 
cause he advocates, namely, that of the American slave. 
Mr. Brown briefly thanked the parties for their spon- 
taneous free-will offering, accompanied, as it was, by a 
generous expression of sympathy for his afflicted brethren 
and sisters in bondage. 

Mr. Brown was in England five years, and dumg 
his sojourn there travelled above twenty-five thousand 
miles through Great Britain, addressed more than one 
thousand public meetings^* lectured in twenty-three me- 
chanics' and literary institutions, and gave his services 
to many of the benevolent and religious societies on the 
occasion of their anniversary meetings. After a lecture 
which he delivered before the Whittington Club, he 


received from the managers of th-at institution the follow- 
ing testimonial : 

'' WiiiTTiNGTOx Club and Metropolitan Athen^um, 

189 Strand, June 21, 1850. 

^' My Dear Sir: I have much pleasure in con- 
veying to you the best thanks of the Managing Commit- 
tee of this institution for the excellent lecture you gave 
here last evening, and also in presenting you in their 
names with an honorary membership of the club. It is 
hoped that you will often avail yourself of its privileges by 
coming amongst us. You will then see, by the cordial 
welcome of the members, that they protest against the 
odious distinctions made between man and man, and the 
abominable traffic of which you have been the victim. 

'' For my own part, I shall be happy to be serviceable 
to you in any way, and at all times be glad to i^lace the 
advantages of the institution at your disposal. 
'^ I am, my dear sir, yours, truly, 

''William Strudwicke, Secretary, 
''Mr. W. Wells Brown." 

The following lines were read at a soiree given to Mr. 

Brown at Bristol, in 1850 

TO William wells brown, 



Brother, farewell to thee ! 

His blessing on thee rest 
Who hates all slavery 

And helps the poor oppressed. 

Go forth with power to break 
The bitter, galling yoke ; 


Go forth 'mongst strong and weak, 
The aid of all invoke. 

0, thou wilt have much woe. 

Tossed on a sea of strife, 
Hunted by many a foe 

Eager to take thy life. 

Perchance thou 'It have to brook 
The taunts of bond and free. 

The cold, disdainful look 

Of men — less men than thee. 

We feel thy soul will rise 

Superior to it all ; 
For thou hast heard the cries. 

And drained the cup of gall. 

Thine eyes have wept the tears 
Which tyrants taught to flow. 

While craven scorn and sneers 
Fell with the shameful blow. 

And now that thou art come 
To Freedom's blessed land. 

Thou broodest on thy home 
And Slavery's hateful brand. 

Thou thinkest thou canst hear 
Three million voices call ; 

They raise to thee their prayers- 
Haste, help to break their thrall ! 

Say, wilt thou have, thy steps to guard, 
Some powerful spell or charm ? 

Then listen to thy sister's word. 
Nor fear thou hurt or harm. 

When shines the North Star, cold and bright, 
Cheer thou thy heart, lift up thy head ! 

Feel, as thou look'st upon its light. 
That blessings on its beams are shed ! 

For rich, and poor, and bond, and free, 

Will also gaze and pray for thee. 


" Adieu 5 adieu ! — my native shore 
Fades o'er tlie waters blue ; 
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar. 

And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
"Yon sun that sets upon the sea 

We follow in his flight ; 
Farewell a while to him and thee ! 
My native land, good-night ! " 

Childe Harold. 

On the 18th July, 1849, I took passage in the steam- 
ship Canada^ Captain Judkins, bound for Liverpool. 
The day was a warm one ; so much so, that many per- 
sons on board, as well as on shore, stood with their 
umbrellas up, so intense was the heat of the sun. The 
ringing of the ship's bell was a signal for us to shake 
hands with our friends, which we did, and then stepped 
on the deck of the noble craft. The Canada quitted 
her moorings at half-past twelve, and we were soon in 
motion. As we Avere passing out of Boston Bay, 1 took 
my stand on the quarter-deck, to take a last farewell 
(at least for a time) of my native land. A visit io the 
Old World, up to that time, had seemed but a dream. As 


I looked back upon the receding land, recollections of 
the past rushed through my mind in quick succession. 
From the treatment that I had received, from the 
Americans as a victim of slavery, and the knowledge 
that I was at that time liable to be seized and again 
reduced to whips and chains, I had supposed that I 
would leave the country without any regret ; but in this 
I was mistaken, for when I saw the last thread of com- 
munication cut off between me and the land, and the 
dim shores dying away in the distance, I almost regretted 
that I was not on shore. 

An anticipated trip to a foreign country appears 
pleasant when talking about it, especially when sur- 
rounded by friends whom we love ; but when we have 
left them all behind, it does not seem so pleasant. 
Whatever may be the fault of the government under 
which w^e live, and no matter how oppressive her laws 
may appear, yet we leave our native land (if such it be) 
with feelings akin to sorrow. With the steamer's pow- 
erful engine at work, and w^ith a fair wind, we were 
speedily on the bosom of the Atlantic, which w^as as 
calm and as smooth as our own Hudson in its calmest 
aspect. We had on board above one hundred passen- 
gers, forty of whom were the ^' Vienneise children" — 
a troop of dancers. The passengers represented several 
different nations, English, French, Spaniards, Africans, 
and Americans. One man, who had the longest mus- 
tache that mortal man was ever doomed to wear, espe- 
cially attracted my attention. He appeared to belong to 


no country in particular, but was yet the busiest man on 
board. After viewing for some time the many strange 
faces round me, I descended to the cabin to look after 
my luggage, which had been put hurriedly on board. I 
hope that all Avho take a trip of so great a distance may 
be as fortunate as I was, in being supplied with books to 
read on the voyage. My friends had furnished me with 
literature, from ^' Macaulay's History of England" to 
'^Jane Eyre," so that I did not want for books to 
occupy my time. 

A pleasant passage of about thirty hours brought us 
to Halifax, at six o'clock in the evening. In company 
with my friend the President of the Oberlin Institute, 
I took a stroll through the town ; and from what little I 
saw of the people in the streets, I am sure that the 
taking of the temperance pledge would do them no in- 
jury. Our stay at Halifax was short. Having taken in 
a few sacks of coals, the mails, and a limited number of 
passengers, we were again out, and soon at sea. 

As the steamer moved gently from the shore I felt 
like repeating those lines of a distinguished poet : 

" With thee, my bark, I '11 swiftly go 

Athwart the foaming brine ; 
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to, 

So not again to mine. 
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue wayes ! 

And when you fail my sight 
Welcome ye deserts and ye caves ! 

My native land, good-night ! '* 

4 ,. ■ ' 


Nothing occurred during the passage to mar the pleas- 
ure which we anticipated from a voyage by sea in such 
fine weather. And, after a splendid run of seven days 
more, I heard the welcome cry of ^' Land a-head." It 
w^as early in the morning, and I was not yet out of bed ; 
but I had no wish to remain longer in my berth. Al- 
though the passage had been unprecedently short, yet 
this news was hailed with joy by all on board. 

For my own part, I was soon on deck. Away in the 
distance, and on our larboard quarter, were the gray 
hills of old Ireland. Yes ; we were in sight of the land 
of Curran, Emmet and O'Connell. While I rejoiced 
with the other passengers at the sight of land, and the 
near approach to the end of our voyage, I felt low- 
spirited, because it reminded me of the great distance I 
was from home, and of dear ones left behind. But the 
experience of above twenty years' travelling had pre- 
pared me to undergo what most persons must, in visit- 
ing a strange country. This was the last day but one 
that we were to be on board ; and, as if moved by the 
sight of land, all seemed to be gathering their different 
things together — brushing up their old clothes and put- 
ting on their new ones, as if this would bring them any 
sooner to the end of their journey. 

The last night on board was the most pleasant, appa- 
rently, that we had experienced ; probably, because it 
was the last. The moon was in her meridian splendor, 
pouring her broad light over the calm sea ; while near to 
us, on ■'our starboard side, was a ship, with her snow- 


white sails spread aloft, and stealing through the water 
like a thing of life. What can present a more pic- 
turesque view than two vessels at sea on a moonlight 
night, and within a few rods of each other ? With a 
gentle breeze, and the powerful engine at work, we 
seemed to be flying to the embrace of our British 

The next morning I was up before the sun, and found 
that we were within a few miles of Liverpool. The 
taking of a pilot on board at eleven o'clock warned us 
to prepare to quit our ocean palace, and seek other quar- 
ters. At a little past three o'clock, the ship cast anchor, 
and we were all tumbled, bag and baggage, into a small 
steamer, and in a few moments were at the door of the 
custom-house. The passage had only been nine days 
and twenty-two hours, the quickest on record at that 
time, yet it was long enough. I waited nearly three 
hours before my name was called, and when it was I 
unlocked my trunks and handed them over to one of the 
officers, whose dirty hands made no improvement on the 
work of the laundress. First one article was taken out, 
and then another, till an Iron Collar that had been 
worn by a female slave on the banks of the Mississippi 
was hauled out, and this democratic instrument of tor- 
ture became the centre of attraction ; so much so, that 
instead of going on with the examination, all hands 
stopped to look at the ^' Negro Collar." 

Several of my countrymen who were standing by 
were not a little displeased at answers which I gave to 


questions on the subject of slavery ; but they held their 
peace. The interest created by the appearance of the 
iron collar closed the examination of my luggage. As 
if afraid that ihej would find something more hideous, 
they put the custom-house mark on each piece, and 
passed them out, and I was soon comfortably installed at 
Brown's Temperance Hotel, Clayton-square. 

No person of my complexion can visit this country 
without being struck with the marked difference between 
the English and the Americans. The prejudice which I 
have experienced on all and every occasion in the United 
States, and to some extent on board the Canada^ van- 
ished as soon as I set foot on the soil of Britain. In 
America I had been bought and sold as a slave in the 
Southern States. In the so-called Free States, I had been 
treated as one born to occupy an inferior position, — in 
steamers, compelled to take my fare on the deck ; in 
hotels, to take my meals in the kitchen ; in coaches, to 
ride on the outside ; in railways, to ride in the *' negro- 
car;" and in churches, to sit in the ^'negro^ew." But 
no sooner was I on British soil, than I w^' recognized 
as a man, and an equal. The very dogs m the streets 
appeared conscious of my manhood. Such is the dif- 
ference, and such is the change that is brought about by 
a trip of nine days in an Atlantic steamer. 

I was not more struck with the treatment of the peo» 
pie than with the appearance of the great seaport of the 
world. The gray stone piers and docks, the dark look 


of the magnificent warehouses, the substantial appear- 
ance of everything around, causes one to think himself 
in a new world instead of the old. Everything in Liv- 
erpool looks old, yet nothing is worn out. The beautiful 
villas on the opposite side of the river, in the vicinity 
of Birkenhead, together with the countless number of 
vessels in the river, and the great ships to be seen in the 
stream, give life and animation to the whole scene. 

Everything in and about Liverpool seems to be built 
for the future as well as the present. We had time to 
examine but few of the public buildings, the first of 
which was the custom-house, an edifice that would be an 
ornament to any city in the world. 


** It seems as if every ship their sovereign knows, 
His awful summons they so soon obey ; 
So hear the scaly herds when Proteus blows, 
And so to pasture follow through the sea." 

After remaining in Liverpool two days, I took pas- 
sage in the little steamer Adelaide for Dublin. The 
wind being high on the night of our voyage, the vessel 
had scarcely got to sea ere we were driven to our berths ; 
and, though the distance from Liverpool to Dublin is 
short, yet, strange to say, I witnessed more effects of the 
sea and rolling of the steamer upon the passengers, than 
was to be seen during the whole of our voyage from 
America. We reached Kingstown, five miles below 
Dublin, after a passage of nearly fifteen hours, and were 
soon seated on a car, and on our way to the city. While 
coming into the bay, one gets a fine view of Dublin and 
the surrounding country. Few sheets of water make a 
more beautiful appearance than Dublin Bay. We found 
it as still and smooth as a mirror, with a soft mist on its 
surface, — a strange contrast to the boisterous sea that 
we had left a moment before. 


The curious phrases of the Irish sounded harshly upon 
my ear, probably because they were strange to me. I 
lost no time, on reaching the city, in seeking out some to 
whom I had letters of introduction, one of whom gave me 
an invitation to make his house my home during my stay, 
— an invitation which I did not think fit to decline. 

Dublin, the metropolis of Ireland, is a city of above 
two hundred thousand inhabitants, and is considered by 
the people of Ireland to be the second city in the British 
empire. The Liffey, which falls into Dublin Bay a 
little below the custom-house, divides the town into tvfo 
nearly equal parts. The streets are — some of them — 
very fine, especially Sackville-street, in the centre of 
which stands a pillar erected to Nelson, England's most 
distinguished naval commander. The Bank of Ireland, 
to which I paid a visit, is a splendid building, and was 
formerly the Parliament .House. This magnificent edifice 
fronts College Green, and near at hand stands a bronze 
statue of William III. The Bank and the Custom- 
House are two of the finest monuments of architecture 
in the city; the latter of which stands near the river 
Lifiey, and its front makes an imposing appearance, 
extending three hundred and seventy-five feet. It is 
built of Portland stone, and is adorned with a beautiful 
portico in the centre, consisting of four Doric columns, 
supporting an enriched entablature, decorated with a 
group of figures in alto-relievo, representing Hibernia 
and Britannia presenting emblems of peace and liberty. 
A magnificent dome, supporting a cupola, on whose apex 


stands a colossal figure of Hope, rises nobly from the 
centre of the building to a height of one hundred and 
twenty-five feet. It is, withal, a fine specimen of what 
man can do. 

From this noble edifice we bent our steps to another 
part of the city, and soon found ourselves in the vicinity 
of St. Patrick's, w^here we had a heart-sickening view of 
the poorest of the poor. All the recollections of poverty 
which I had ever beheld seemed to disappear in com- 
parison with what was then before me. We passed a 
filthy and noisy market, where fruit and vegetable 
women were screaming and begging those passing by to 
purchase their commodities ; while in and about the 
market-place were throngs of beggars fighting for rotten 
fruit, cabbage-stocks, and even the very trimmings of 
vegetables. On the side-walks were great numbers 
hovering about the doors of the more wealthy, and fol- 
lowing strangers, importuning them for ^' pence to buy 
bread." Sickly and emaciated looking creatures, half 
naked, were at our heels at every turn. 

In our return home, we passed through a respectable- 
looking street, in which stands a small three-story brick 
building, that was pointed out to us as the birthplace of 
Thomas Moore, the poet. The following verse from one 
of his poems was continually in my mind while viewing 
this house: 

«« Where is the slave so lowly, 
Condemned to chains unholy, 
Who, could he burst 
His bonds at first. 
Would pine beneath them slowly? '* 


The next day was the Sabbath, but it had more the 
appearance of a holiday than a day of rest. It had been 
announced the day before that the royal fleet was ex- 
pected, and at an early hour on Sunday the entire town 
seemed to be on the move towards Kingstown, and, as 
the family with whom I was staying followed the multi- 
tude, I was not inclined to remain behind, and so went 
with them. On reaching the station, we found it utterly 
impossible to get standing room in any of the trains, 
much less a seat, and therefore determined to reach 
Kingstown under the plea of a morning's walk ; and in 
this we were not alone, for during the walk of five miles 
the road was filled with thousands of pedestrians, and a 
countless number of carriages, phaetons, and vehicles of a 
more humble order. 

We reached the lower town in time to get a good 
dinner, and rest ourselves before going to make further 
searches for her majesty's fleet. At a little past four 
o'clock, we observed the multitude going towards the pier, 
a number of whom were yelling, at the top of their voices, 
'^ It 's coming, it 's coming ! '' but on going to the quay 
we found that a false alarm had been given. However, 
we had been on the look-out but a short time, when a 
column of smoke, rising, as it were, out of the sea, an- 
nounced that the royal fleet was near at hand. The 
concourse in the vicinity of the pier was variously esti- 
mated at from eighty to one hundred thousand. 

It was not long before the- five steam^ers were entering 
the harbor, the one bearing her majesty leading the wary. 


As each vessel had a number of distinguished persons on 
board, the people appeared to be at a loss to know which 
was the queen ; and as each party made its appearance 
on the promenade deck, they were received with great 
enthusiasm, the party having the best-looking lady being 
received with the greatest applause. The Prince of 
Wales, and Prince Alfred, while crossing the deck were 
recognized, and greeted with three cheers ; the former, 
taking off his hat and bowing to the people, showed that 
he had had some training as a public man, although not 
ten years of age. But not so with Prince Alfred ; for, 
when his brother turned to him and asked him to take 
off his hat, and make a bow to the people, he shook his 
head, and said, ^^No." This was received with hearty 
laughter by those on board, and was responded to by the 
thousands on shore. But greater applause was yet in 
store for the young prince ; for the captain of the 
steamer being near by, and seeing that the Prince of 
Wales could not prevail on his brother to take off his hat, 
stepped up to him and undertook to take it off for him, 
when, seemingly to the delight of all, the prince put both 
hands to his head, and held his hat fast. This was 
regarded as a sign of courage and future renown, and 
was received with the greatest enthusiasm, many crying 
out, ^' Good, good ! he will make a brave king when his 
day comes." 

After the greetings and applause had been wasted on 
many who had appeared on deck, all at once, as if by 
some magic power, we beheld a lady, rather small in 


stature, with auburn hair, attired in a plain dress, and 
wearing a sky-blue bonnet, standing on the larboard 
paddle-box, by the side of a tall, good-looking man, with 
a mustache. The thunders of applause that now rent the 
air. and cries of ''The queen, the queen! " seemed to 
set at rest the question of which was her majesty. But 
a few moments were allowed to the people to look at the 
queen, before she again disappeared ; and it w^as under- 
stood that she would not be seen again that evening. A 
rush was then made for the railway, to return to Dublin. 
^ ^ ^ ^- ^ ^ 

The seventh of August was a great day in Dublin. 
At an early hour the bells began their merry peals, and 
the people were soon seen in groups in the streets and 
public squares. The hour of ten was fixed for the pro- 
cession to leave Kingstown, and it was expected to enter 
the city at eleven. The windows of the houses in the 
streets through which the royal train was to pass were 
at a premium, and seemed to find ready occupants. 

Being invited the day previous to occupy part of a 
window in Sackville-street, I was stationed at my allot- 
ted place at an early hour, with an outstretched neck 
and open eyes. My own color differing from those about 
me, I attracted not a little attention from many ; and 
often, when gazing down the street to see if the royal 
procession was in sight, would find myself eyed by all 
around. But neither while at the window or in the 
streets was I once insulted. This was so unlike the 
American prejudice, that it seemed strange to me. It 


was near twelve o'clock before the procession entered 
Sackville-streetj and Avhen it did all eyes seemed to beam 
with delight. The first carriage contained only her 
majesty and the Prince Consort ; the second the royal 
children, and the third the lords in waiting. Fifteen 
carriages were used by those that made up the royal 
party. I had a full view of the queen and all who fol- 
lowed in the train. Her majesty — whether from 
actual love for her person, or the novelty of the occasion, 
I know not which — was received everywhere with the 
greatest enthusiasm. One thing, however, is cer- 
tain, and that is, Queen Victoria is beloved by her 

But the grand fete was reserved for the evening. 
Great preparations had been made to have a grand illum- 
ination on the occasion, and hints were thrown out that 
it would surpass anything ever witnessed in London. In 
this they were not far out of the way; for all who 
witnessed the scene admitted that it could scarcely have 
been surpassed. My own idea of an illumination, as I 
had seen it in the back- woods of my native land, dwindled 
into nothing when compared with this magnificent 

In company with a few friends, and a lady under my 
charge, I undertook to pass through Sackville and one 
or two other streets about eight o'clock in the evening, 
but we found it utterly impossible to proceed. Masses 
thronged the streets, and the wildest enthusiasm seemed 
to prevail. In our attempt to cross the bridge, we were 


wedged in and lost our companions ; and on one occasion 
I was separated from the lady, and took shelter under a 
cart standing in the street. After being jammed and 
pulled about for nearly two hours, I returned to my 
lodgings, where I found part of my company, who 
had come in one after another. At eleven o'clock we 
had all assembled, and each told his adventures and 
'' hair-breadth escapes : '' and nearly every one had lost 
a pocket-handkerchief or something of the kind ; my own 
was among the missing. However, I lost nothing ; for a 
benevolent lady, who happened to be one of the company, 
presented me with one which w^as of far more value than 
the one I had lost. 

Every one appeared to enjoy the holiday which the 
royal visit had caused. But the Irish are indeed a 
strange people. How varied their aspect, how contra- 
dictory their character ! Ireland, the land of genius 
and degradation, of great resources and unparalleled 
poverty, noble deeds and the most revolting crimes, the 
land of distinguished poets, splendid orators, and the 
bravest of soldiers, the land of ignorance and beggary ! 
Dublin is a splendid city, but its splendor is that of 
chiselled marble rather than real life. One cannot 
behold these architectural monuments without think in o; 
of the great men that Ireland has produced. The names 
of Burke, Sheridan, Flood, Grattan, O'Connell and 
Shiel, have become as familiar to the Americans as 
household words. Burke is known as the statesman ; 
Sheridan for his great speech on the trial of Warren 
5 , 


Hastings; Grattan for his eloquence; O'Connell as the 
agitator, and Shiel as the accomplished orator. 

But, of Ireland's sons, none stands higher in. America 
than Thomas Moore, the poet. The vigor of his sarcasm, 
the glow of his enthusiasm, the coruscations of his fancy, 
and the flashing of his wit, seem to be as well understood 
in the New World as the Old ; and the support which his 
pen has given to civil and religious liberty throughout 
the world entitles the Minstrel of Erin to this elevated 


" There is no other land like thee. 
No dearer shore ; 
Thou art the shelter of the free, — 
The home, the port of Liberty." 

Aftee a pleasant sojourn of three weeks in Ireland. 
I took passage in one of the mail-steamers for Liverpool ^ 
andj arriving there, \Yas soon on the road to the metropo- 
lis. The passage from Dublin to Liverpool was an 
agreeable one. The rough sea that we passed through 
on going to Ireland had given waj to a dead calm ; and 
our noble little steamer, on quitting the Dublin wharf, 
seemed to understand that she was to have it all her own 
way. During the first part of the evening, the boat 
appeared to feel her importance, and, da^rting through 
the w^ater with majestic strides, she left behind her a 
dark cloud of smoke suspended in the air like a banner ; 
while, far astern in the wake of the vessel, could be seen 
the rippled waves sparkling in the rays of the moon, 
giving strength and beauty to the splendor of the even- 

On reaching Liverpool, and partaking of a good 
breakfast, for whicli we paid double price, we proceeded 


to the railway station, and were soon going at a rate un- 
known to those accustomed to travel only on American 
railways. At a little past two o'clock in the afternoon 
we saw in the distance the outskirts of London. We 
could get but an indistinct vieWj which had the appear- 
ance of one architectural mass, extending all round to 
the horizon, and enveloped in a combination of fog and 
smoke ; and towering above every other object to be seen 
w^as the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. 
' A few moments more, and we were safely seated in a 
^'Hansom's Patent," and on our way to Hughes's — one 
of the politest men of the George Fox stamp we have 
ever met. Here we found forty or fifty persons, who, 
like ourselves, w^ere bound for the Peace Congress. The 
Sturges, the Wighams, the Eichardsons, the Aliens, the 
Thomases, and a host of others not less distinguished as 
friends of peace, were of the company — of many of whom 
I had heard, but none of whom I had ever seen ; yet I 
was not an entire stranger to many, especially to the 
abolitionists. In company with a friend, I sallied forth 
after tea to take a view of the city. The evening was 
fine — the dense fog and smoke, having to some extent 
passed away, left the stars shining brightly, while the 
gas-light from the street-lamps and the brilliant shop- 
windows gave it the appearance of day-light in a new 
form. ^' What street is this ? " we asked. '^ Cheapside," 
w^as the reply. The street was thronged, and everybody 
seemed to be going at a rapid rate, as if there was some- 
thing of importance at the end of the journey. Flying 


vehicles of every description passing each other with a 
dangerous rapidity, men with lovely women at their 
sides, children running about as if they had lost their 
parents — all gave a brilliancy to the scene scarcely to 
be excelled. If one wished to get jammed and pushed 
about, he need go no further than Cheapside. But 
everything of the kind is done with a degree of propriety 
in London that would put the New Yorkers to blush. 
If you are run over in London, they ^ ' beg your pardon ; ' ^ 
if they run over you in New York, you are ^^ laughed 
at : '' in London, if your hat is knocked off it is picked up 
and handed to you ; if in New York, you must pick it 
up yourself. There is a lack of good manners among 
Americans that is scarcely known or understood in Eu- 
rope. Our stay in the great metropolis gave us but 
little opportunity of seeing much of the place ; for in 
twenty-four hours after our arrival we joined the rest 
of the delegates, and started on our visit to our Gallic 

We assembled at the London Bridge Railway Station, 
a few minutes past nine, to the number of six hundred. 
The day was fine, and every eye seemed to glow with 
enthusiasm. Besides the delegates, there were probably 
not less than six hundred more, who had come to see the 
company start. We took our seats, and appeared to be 
waiting for nothing but the iron-horse to be fastened to 
the train, when all at once we were informed that we 
must go to the booking-office and change our tickets. At 
this news every one appeared to be* vexed. This caused 
^ 5^ 


great trouble ; for, on returning to the train, many per- 
sons got into the wrong carriages ; and several parties 
were separated from their friends, while not a few were 
calling out, at the top of their voices, ^' Where is my 
wife ? Where is my husband ? Where is my luggage 7 
Who 's got my boy ? Is this the right train ? " ^^ What 
is that lady going to do with all these children ? " asked 
the guard. ^'Is she a delegate? are all the children 
delegates ? " In the carriage where I had taken my seat 
was a good-looking lady, who gave signs of being very 
much annoyed. ^'It is just so when I am going any- 
where : I never saw the like in my life ! " said she. ^' I 
really wish I was at home again." 

An hour had now elapsed, and we were still at the 
station. However, we were soon on our way, and going 
at express speed. In passing through Kent we enjoyed 
the scenery exceedingly, as the weather was altogether in 
our favor ; and the drapery which nature hung on the 
trees, in the part through which we passed, was in all its 
gayety. On our arrival at Folkstone, w^e found three 
steamers in readiness to convey the party to Boulogne. 
As soon as the train stopped, a general rush was made 
for the steamers, and in a very short time the one in 
which I had embarked was passing out of the harbor. 
The boat appeared to be conscious that we were going on 
a holy mission, and seemed to be proud of her load. 
There is nothing in this wide world so like a thing of life 
as a steamer, from the breathing of her steam and smoke, 
the energy of her motion, and the beauty of her shape ; 


while the ease with which she is managed by the com- 
mand of a single voice makes her appear as obedient as 
the horse is to the rein. 

When we were about half way between the two great 
European powers, the oiBcer began to gather the tickets. 
The first to whom he applied, and who handed out his 
^^ Excursion Ticket," was informed that we were all in 
the wrong boat. ^' Is this not one of the boats to take 
over the delegates? " asked a pretty little lady, with a 
whining voice. '' No, madam,'' said the captain. '' You 
must look to the committee for your pay," said one of the 
company to the captain. ^'I have nothing to do with 
committees," the captain replied. '^ Your fare, gentle- 
men, if you please." 

Here the whole party were again thrown into confu- 
sion. '^ Do you hear that ? We are in the wrong boat." 
'' I knew it would be so," said the Rev. Dr. Ritchie, of 
Edinburgh. ^^ It is indeed a pretty piece of work," said 
a plain-looking lady in a handsome bonnet. '^ When I 
go travelling again," said an elderly-looking gent, with 
an eye-glass to his face, ^ * I will take the phaeton and old 
Dobbin." Every one seemed to lay the blame on the 
committee, and not, too, without some just grounds. 
However, Mr. Sturge, one of the committee, being in the 
boat with us, an arrangement was entered into by which 
we were not compelled to pay our fare the second time. 

As we neared the French coast, the first object that 
attracted our attention was the Napoleon Pillar, on the 
top of which is a statue of the emperor in the imperial 


robes. V\^e landed^ partook of refreshment that had been 
prepared for uS; and again repaired to the railway station. 
The arrangements for leaving Boulogne were no better 
than those at London. But after the delay of another 
hour we were again in motion. 

It was a beautiful country through which we passed 
from Boulogne to Amiens. Straggling cottages which 
bespeak neatness and comfort abound on every side. The 
eye wanders over the diversified views with unabated 
pleasure, and rests in calm repose upon its superlative 
beauty. Indeed, the eye cannot but be gratified at view- 
ing the entire country from the coast to the metropolis. 
Sparkling hamlets spring up, as the steam-horse speeds his 
way, at almost every point, showing the progress of civil- 
ization, and the refinement of the nineteenth century. 

We arrived at Paris a few minutes past twelve o'clock 
■at night, when, according to our tickets, we should have 
been there at nine. Elihu Burritt, who had been in 
Paris some days, and who had the arrangements there 
pretty much his own way, was at the station waiting the 
arrival of the train, and we had demonstrated to us the 
best evidence that he understood his business. In no 
other place on the whole route had the affairs been so 
well managed ; for we were seated in our respective car- 
riages and our luggage placed on the top, and away we 
went to our hotels, without the least difiiculty or incon- 
venience. The champion of an ^' Ocean Penny Postage " 
received, as he deserved, thanks from the whole company 
for his admirable management. 


The silence of the night was only disturbed by the 
rolling of the wheels of the omnibus, as we passed through 
the dimly-lighted streets. Where, a few months before, 
was to be seen the flash from the cannon and the musket, 
and the hearing of the cries and groans behind the barri- 
cades, was now the stillness of death — nothing save here 
and there a gens cVarme w^as to be seen going his 
rounds in silence. 

The omnibus set us down at the hotel Bedford, Rue do 
L'Card, where, although near one o'clock, we found a 
good supper waiting for us ; and, as I was not devoid of 
an appetite, I did my share towards putting it out of the 

The next morning I was up at an early hour, and out 
on the Boulevards to see what might be seen. As I was 
passing from the hotel to the Place de La Concord, all at 
once, and as if by some magic power, I found myself in 
front of the most splendid edifice imaginable, situated at 
the end of the Rue Nationale. Seeing a number of per- 
sons entering the church at that early hour, and recog- 
nizing among them my friend the President of the 
Oberlin (Ohio) Institute, and wishing not to stray too 
far from my hotel before breakfast, I followed the crowd 
and entered the building. The church itself consisted of 
a vast nave, interrupted by four pews on each side, 
fronted with lofty fluted Corinthian columns standing on 
pedestals, supporting colossal arches, bearing up cupolas 
pierced with skylights and adorned with compartments 
gorgeously gilt ; their corners supported with saints and 


apostles in alto relievo. The walls of the church were 
lined with rich marble. The different paintings and 
figures gave the interior an imposing appearance. On 
inquiry, I found that I was in the Church of the 
Madeleine. It was near this spot that some of the 
most interesting scenes occurred during the Revolution 
of 1848j which dethroned Louis Philippe. Behind the 
Madeleine is a small but well-supplied market ; and on 
an esplanade east of the edifice a flower-market is held 
on Tuesdays and Fridays. 

At eleven o'clock the same day, the Peace Con- 
gress met in the Salle St. Cecile, Rue de la St. 
Lazare. The Parisians have no ^'Exeter Hall;" in 
fact, there is no private hall in the city of any size, 
save this, where such a meeting could be held. This 
hall had been fitted up for the occasion. The room 
is long, and at one end has a raised platform ; and at the 
opposite end is a gallery, with seats raised one above 
another. On one side of the hall was a balcony with 
sofas, which were evidently the '' reserved seats.'' 

The hall was filled at an early hour with the dele- 
gates, their friends, and a good sprinkling of the French. 
Occasionally, small groups of gentlemen would make 
their appearance on the platform, until it soon appeared 
that there was little room left for others ; and yet the 
officers of the Convention had not come in. The dif- 
ferent countries were, many of them, represented here. 
England, France, Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, 
Greece, Spain, and the United States, had each their 


delegates. The assembly began to give signs of impa- 
tience, when very soon the train of officials made their 
appearance amid great applause. Victor Hugo led the 
way, followed by M. Duguerry, cure of the Madeleine, 
Elihu Burritt, and a host of others of less note. Victor 
Hugo took the chair as President of the Congress, sup- 
ported by vice-presidents from the several nations repre- 
sented. Mr. Eichard, the secretary, read a dry report 
of the names of societies, committees, etc., which was 
deemed the opening of the Convention. 

The president then arose, and delivered one of the 
most impressive and eloquent appeals in favor of peace 
that could possibly be imagined. The effect produced 
upon the minds of all present was such as to make the 
author of ^^ Notre Dame de Paris ^^ a great favorite 
with the Congress. An English gentleman near me said 
to his friend,^'! can't understand a word of what he 
says, but is it not good ? " Victor Hugo concluded his 
speech amid the greatest enthusiasm on the part of the 
French, which was followed by hurras in the old Eng- 
lish style. The Convention was successively addressed 
by the President of the Brussels Peace Society ; Presi- 
dent Mahan, of the Oberlin (Ohio) Institute, U. S.; 
Henry Vincent ; and Richard Cobden. The latter was 
not only the lion of the English delegation, but the 
great man of the Convention. When Mr. Cobden speaks 
there is no want of hearers. The great power of 
this gentleman lies in his facts and his earnestness, for 
he cannot be called an eloquent speaker. Mr. Cobden 


addressed the Congress first in French, then in English ; 
and, with the single exception of Mr. E\^art, M. P., 
was the only one of the English delegation that could 
speak to the French in their own language. 

The first day's proceedings were brought to a close at 
five o'clock, when the numerous audience dispersed — 
the citizens to their homes, and the delegates to see the 

I was not a little amused at an incident that occurred 
at the close of the first session. On the passage from 
America, there were in the same steamer with me sev- 
eral Americans, and among these three or four appeared 
to be much annoyed at the fact that I wa^ a passenger, 
and enjoying the company of white persons; and, al- 
though I was not openly insulted, I very often heard the 
remark, that '' That nigger had better be on his master's 
farm," and ^^ What could the American Peace Society 
be thinking about, to send a black man as a delegate to 
Paris?" Well, at the close of the first sitting of the 
convention, and just as I was leaving Victor Hugo, to 
whom I had been introduced by an M. P., I observed 
near me a gentleman with his hat in hand, whom I 
recognized as one of the passengers who had crossed the 
Atlantic with me in the Canada^ and who appeared to 
be the most horrified at having a negro for a fellow-pas- 
senger. This gentleman, as I left M. Hugo, stepped up 
to me and said, ^' How do you do, Mr. Brown? " ^^ You 
have the advantage of me," said I. '' 0, don't you 
know me ? I was a fellow-passenger with you from 


America ; I wish you would give me an introduction to 
Victor Hugo and Mr. Cobden.'' I need not inform you 
that I declined introducing this pro -slavery American to 
these distinguished men. I only allude to this, to show 
what a change came over the dreams of my white Ameri- 
can brother by crossing the ocean. The man who would 
not have been seen walking with me in the streets of 
New Yorkj and who would not have shaken hands with 
me with a pair of tongs while on the passage from the 
United States, could come with hat in hand in Paris, 
and say, '^I was your fellow-passenger." From the 
Salle de St. Cecile, I visited the Column Vendome, from 
the top of which I obtained a fine view of Paris and its 
environs. This is the Bunker Hill Monument of Paris. 
On the top of this pillar is a statue of the Emperor 
Napoleon, eleven feet high. The monument is built 
with stone, and the outside covered with a metallic com- 
position, made of cannons, guns, spikes, and other war- 
like implements taken from the Russians and Austrians 
by Napoleon. Above twelve hundred cannons were 
melted down to help to create this monument of folly, to 
commemorate the success of the French arms in the Ger- 
man campaign. The column is in imitation of the Tra- 
jan pillar at Rome, and is twelve feet in diameter at the 
base. The door at the bottom of the pillar, and where 
we entered, was decorated above with crowns of oak, 
surmounted by eagles, each weighing five hundred 
pounds. The bas-relief of the shaft pursues a spiral 
direction to the top, and displays, in a chronological 


Order, the principal actions of the French army, from 
the departure of the troops from Boulogne to the battle 
of Austerlitz. The figures are near three feet- high, and 
their number said to be two thousand. This sumptuous 
monument stands on a plinth of polished granite, sur- 
mounted by an iron railing ; and, from its size and posi- 
tion, has an imposing appearance -when seen from any 
part of the city. 

Everything here appears strange and peculiar — the 
people not less so than their speech. The horses, car- 
riages, furniture, dress and manners, are in keeping 
with their language. The appearance of the laborers 
in caps, resembling night-caps, seemed particularly 
strange to me. The women without bonnets, and their 
caps turned the right side behind, had nothing of the 
look of our American women. The prettiest woman I 
ever saw was without a bonnet, walking on the Boule- 
vards. While in Ireland, and during the few days I 
was in England, I was struck with the marked difference 
between the appearance of the women and those of my 
own country. The American women are too tall, too 
sallow, and too long-featured, to be called pretty. This 
is most probably owing to the fact that in America the 
people come to maturity earlier than in most other 

My first night in Paris was spent with interest. ISTo 
place can present greater street attractions than the 
Boulevards of Paris. The countless number of cafes, 
with tables before the doors, and these surrounded by 


men with long moustaches, with ladies at their sides, 
whose very smiles give indication of happiness, together 
with the sound of music from the gardens in the rear, 
tell the stranger that he is in a different country from 
his own. 


A town of noble fame, 

Where monuments are found in ancient guise, 
"Where kings and queens in pomp did long abide, 
And where God pleased that good King Louis died." 

After the Convention had finished its sittings yester- 
day, I accompanied Mrs. C and sisters to Versailles, 

where they are residing during the summer. It was 
really pleasing to see among the hundreds of strange 
faces in the Convention those distinguished friends of the 
slave from Boston. 

Mrs. C 's residence is directly in front of the 

great palace where so many kings ' have made their 
homes, the prince of whom was Louis XIV. The palace 
is now unoccupied. No ruler has dared to take up his 
residence here since Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette 
were driven from it by the mob from Paris on the eighth 
of October, 1789. The town looks like the wreck of what 
it once was. At the commencement of the first revolution, 
it contained one hundred thousand inhabitants ; now it 
has only about thirty thousand. It seems to be going 
back to what it was in the time of Louis XIII., when, in 
1624, he built a small brick chateau, and from it arose 


the magnificent palace which now stands here, and which 
attracts strangers to it from all parts of the world. 

I arose this morning at an early hour, and took a 
walk through the grounds of the palace, and remained 
three hours among the fountains and statuary of this 
more than splendid place. At ten o'clock we again 
returned to Paris, to the Peace Congress. 

The session was opened by a speech from M. Coquerel, 
the Protestant clergyman in Paris. His speech was 
received with much applause, and seemed to create great 
sensation in the Congress, especially at the close of his 
remarks, when he was seized by the hand by the Abbe 
Duguerry, amid the most deafening and enthusiastic ap- 
plause of the entire multitude. The meeting was then 
addressed in English by a short gentleman, of florid com- 
plexion. His words seemed to come without the least 
diflSculty, and his gestures, though somewhat violent, 
were evidently studied ; and the applause with which he 
was greeted by the English delegation showed that he 
was a man of no little distinction among them. His 
speech was one continuous flow of rapid, fervid eloquence, 
that seemed to fire every heart ; and although I disliked 
his style, I was prepossessed in his favor. This was 
Henry Vincent, and his speech was in favor of disarma- 

Mr. Vincent was followed by M. Emile de Girardin, 

the editor of La Presse^ in one of the most eloquent 

speeches that I ever heard; and his exclamation of 

^^ Soldiers of Peace " drew thunders of applause from 



his own countrymen. M. Girardin is not only the leader 
of the French press, but is a writer on politics of great 
distinction, and a leader of no inconsiderable party in the 
National Assembly ; although still a young man, ap- 
parently not more than thirty-eight or forty years of 

After a speech from Mr. Ewart, M. P., in French, 
and another from Mr. Cobden in the same lan^-uafj-e, the 
Convention was brought to a close for the day. I spent 
the morning yesterday in visiting some of the lions of the 
French capital, among which was the Louvre. The 
French government having kindly ordered that the 
members of the Peace Congress should be admitted free, 
and without ticket, to all the public works, I had nothing 
to do but present my card of membership, and was im- 
mediately admitted. 

The first room I entered was nearly a quarter of a 
mile in length; is known as the ^' Long Gallery," and 
contains some of the finest paintings in the world. 
On entering this superb palace, my first impression was 
that all Christeifdom had been robbed, that the Louvre 
might make a splendid appearance. This is the Italian 
department, and one would suppose by its appearance 
that but few paintings had been left in Italy. The 
entrance end of the Louvre was for a long time in an 
unfinished state, but was afterwards completed by that 
master workman, the Emperor Napoleon. It was long 
thought that the building would crumble into decay, but 
the genius of the great Corsican rescued it from ruin. 


During our walk through the Louvre, we saw some 
twenty or thirty artists copying paintings; some had 
their copies finished and were going out, others half 
done, while many had just commenced. I remained some 
minutes near a pretty French girl, who was copying a 
painting of a dog rescuing a child from a stream of water 
into which it had fallen. 

I walked down one side of the hall and up the other, 
and was about leaving, when I was informed that this was 
only one room, and that a half-dozen more were at my 
service ; but a clock on a neighboring church reminded 
me that I must quit the Louvre for the Salle de St. 

^ M^ 4i. 4/* jiL. Ai. 

-T5" •T?- ^ ^nv" TV ^ 

At the meeting of the third session of the Congress, the 
hall was filled at an early hour with rather a more 
fashionable-looking audience than on any former occasion, 
and all appeared anxious for its commencement, as it was 
understood to be the last day. After the reading of 
several letters from gentlemen, apologizing for their not 
being able to attend, the speech of Elihu Burritt was 
read by a son of M. Coquerel. I felt somewhat aston- 
ished that my countryman, wno was said to be master of 
fifty languages, had to get some one to read his speech 
in French. 

The Abbe Duguerry now came forward amid great 
cheering, and said that ^'the eminent journalist, Girar- 
din, and the great English logician, Mr. Cobden, had 
made it unnecessary for any further advocacy in that 


assembly of the peace cause : that if the principles laid 
down in the resolutions were carried out, the work would 
be done. He said that the question of general pacifica- 
tion was built on truth, — truth which emanated from 
God, — and it were as vain to undertake to prevent air 
from expanding as to check the progress of truth. It 
must and would prevail." 

A pale, thin-faced gentleman next ascended the plat- 
form (or tribune, as it was called) amid shouts of ap- 
plause from the English, and began his speech in rather 
a low tone, when compared with the sharp voice of Vin- 
cent, or the thunder of the Abbe Duguerry. An audi- 
ence is not apt to be pleased or even contented with an 
inferior speaker, when surrounded by eloquent men, and 
I looked every moment for manifestations of disapproba- 
tion, as I felt certain that the English delegation had 
made a mistake in applauding this gentleman, who 
seemed to make such an unpromising beginning. But the 
speaker soon began to get warm on the subject, and even 
at times appeared as if he had spoken before. In a very 
short time, with the exception of his own voice, the still- 
ness of death prevailed throughout the building, and the' 
speaker delivered one of the most logical speeches Inade 
in the Congress, and, despite of his thin, sallow look, 
interested me much more than any whom I had before 
heard. Towards the close of his remarks, he was several 
times interrupted by manifestations of approbation ; and 
finally concluded amid great cheering. I inquired the 


gentleman's name, and was informed that it was Edward 
Miallj editor of the Nonconformist. 

After speeches from several others, the great Peace 
Congress of 1849, which had brought men together from 
nearly all the governments of Europe, and many from 
America, was brought to a final close by a speech from 
the president, returning thanks for the honor that had 
been conferred upon him. He said : ^'My address shall 
be short, and yet I have to bid you adieu ! Hovf resolve 
to do so ? Here, during three days, have questions of 
the deepest import been discussed, examined, probed to 
the bottomx ; and during these discussions counsels have 
been given to governments which they will do well to 
profit by. If these days' sittings are attended with no 
other result, they will be the means of sowing in the 
minds of those present germs of cordiality which must 
ripen into good fruit. England, France, Belgium, 
Europe and America, would all be drawn closer by these 
sittings. Yet the moment to part has arrived, but I can 
feel that we are strongly united in heart. But, before 
parting, I may congratulate you and myself on the 
result of our proceedings. We have been all joined 
together without distinction of country ; we have all been 
united in one common feeling during our three days' 
communion. The good work cannot go back ; it must 
advance, it must be accomplished. The course of the 
future may be judged of by the sound of the footsteps of 
the past. In the course of that day's discussion, a remin- 
iscence had been handed up to one of the speakers, that 


this was the anniversary of the dreadful massacre of St. 
Bartholomew : the reverend gentleman who was speaking 
turned away from the thought of that sanguinary scene 
with pious horror, natural to his sacred calling. But I, 
who may boast of firmer nerve, I take up the remem- 
brance. Yes, it was on this day, two hundred and 
seventy-seven years ago, that Paris w^as roused from 
slumber by the sound of that bell which bore the name 
of cloche d!ar^ent. Massacre was on foot, seekino; 
Avith keen eye for its victim ; man was busy in slaying 
man. That slaughter was called forth by mingled pas- 
sions of the worst description. Hatred of all kinds was 
there urging on the slayer, — hatred of a religious, a 
political, a personal character. And yet on the anniver- 
sary of that same day of horror, and in that very city 
whose blood was flowing like water, has God this day 
given a rendezvous to men of peace, whose wild tumult is 
transformed into order, and animosity into love. The 
stain of blood is blotted out, and in its place beams forth 
a ray of holy light. All distinctions are removed, and 
Papist and Huguenot meet together in friendly com- 
munion. (Loud cheers.) Who that thinks of these 
amazing changes can doubt of the progress that has been 
made ? But whoever denies the force of progress must 
deny God, since progress is the boon of Providence, and 
emanated from the great Being above. I feel gratified 
for the change that has been effected, and, pointing 
solemnly to the past, I say let this day be ever held 
memorable ; let the twenty-fourth of August, 1572, 


be remembered only for the purpose of being compared 
with the twenty-fourth of August, 1849 ; and when we 
think of the latter, and ponder over the high purpose to 
which it has been devotedj — the advocacy of the prin- 
ciples of peace, — ■ let us not be so wanting in reliance on 
Providence as to doubt for one moment of the eventual 
success of our holy cause.'' 

The most enthusiastic cheers followed this interesting 
speech. A vote of thanks to the government, and three 
times three cheers, w^ith Mr. Cobden as ''fugleman," 
ended the great Peace Congress of 1849. 

Time for separating had arrived, yet all seemed un- 
willing to leave the place, where, for three days, men of 
all creeds and of no creed had met upon one common 
platform. In one sense the meeting was a glorious one, 
in another it was mere child's play ; for the Congress had 
been restricted to the discussion of certain topics. They 
were permitted to dwell on the blessings of peace, but 
were not allowed to say anything about the very subjects 
above all others that should have been brought before the 
Congress. A French army had invaded Rome and put 
down the friends of political and religious freedom, yet 
not a word was said in reference to it. The fact is, the 
committee permitted the Congress to be gagged before 
it had met. They put padlocks upon their own mouths, 
and handed the keys to the government. And this was 
sorely felt by many of the speakers. Richard Cobden, 
who had thundered his anathemas against the corn-laws 
of his own country, and against wars in every clime, had 


to sit quiet in his fetters. Henry Vincent, who can 
make a louder speech in favor of peace than almost any- 
other man, and whose denunciations of ^' all war," have 
gained him no little celebrity with peace men, had to 
confine himself to the blessings of peace. 0, how I 
wished for a Massachusetts atmosphere, a New England 
convention platform, with Wendell Phillips as the 
speaker, before that assembled multitude from all parts 
of the world ! 

But the Congress is over, and cannot now be made 
different ; yet it is to be hoped that neither the London 
Peace Committee, nor any other men having the charge 
of getting up such another great meeting, will commit 
such an error again. 


** Man J on the dubious waves of error tossed. 
His ship half foundered, and his compass lost, 
Sees, far as human optics may command, 
A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land." 


The day after the close of the CongresSj the delegates 
and their friends were invited to a soiree by M. de 
Tocqueville, Minister for Foreign Affairs, to take place 
on the next evening (Saturday) ; and, as my colored 
face and curly hair did not prevent my getting an invi- 
tation, I was present with the rest of my peace brethren. 

Had I been in America, where color is considered a 
crime, I would not have been seen at such a gathering, 
unless as a servant. In company with several delegates, 
we left the Bedford Hotel for the mansion of the Minis- 
ter of Foreign Affairs ; and, on arriving, we found a file 
of soldiers drawn up before the gate. This did not seem 
much like peace : however, it was merely done in honor 
of the company. We entered the building through 
massive doors, and resigned ourselves into the hands of 
good-looking waiters in white wigs ; and, after our names 
were duly announced, were passed from room to roomj 


till I was presented to Madame de Tocqueville, who was 
standing near the centre of the large drawing-room, with 
a bouquet in her hand. I was about passing on, when 
the gentleman who introduced me intimated that I was 
an '^American slave." At the announcement of this 
fact, the distinguished lady extended her hand and gave 
me a cordial welcome, at the same time saying, ^^ I 
hope you feel yourself free in Paris.'' Having accepted 
an invitation to a seat by the lady's side, who seated 
herself on a sofa, I was soon what I most dislike, ' ' the 
observed of all observers." I recognized, among many 
of my own countrymen who were gazing at me, the 
American Consul, Mr. Walsh. My position did not im- 
prove his looks. The company present on this occasion 
were variously estimated at from one thousand to fifteen 
hundred. Among these were the ambassadors from the 
different countries represented at the French metropolis, 
and many of the elite of Paris. One could not but be 
interested with the difference in dress, looks and man- 
ners, of this assemblage of strangers, w^hose language was 
as different as their general appearance. Delight seemed 
to beam in every countenance, as the living stream floated 
from one room to another. The house and gardens were 
illuminated in the most gorgeous manner. Red, yellow, 
blue, green, and many other colored lamps, suspended 
from the branches of the trees in the gardens, gave life 
and animation to the whole scene out of doors. The 
soiree passed off satisfactorily to all parties ; and by 
twelve o'clock I was again at my hotel. 


Through the politeness of the government the mem- 
bers of the Congress have not only had the pleasure of 
seeing all the public works free, and without special 
ticketj but the palaces of Versailles and St. Cloud, to- 
gether with their splendid grounds, have been thrown 
open, and the water- works set to playing in both places. 
This mark of respect for the peace movement is commend- 
able in the French ; and were I not such a strenuous 
friend of free speech, this act would cause me to over- 
look the padlocks that the government put upon our lips 
in the Congress. 

Two long trains left Paris at nine o'clock for Ver- 
sailles ; and at each of the stations the company were 
loudly cheered by the people who had assembled to see 
them pass. At Versailles we found thousands at the 
station, who gave us a most enthusiastic welcome. We 
were blessed with a goodly number of the fair sex, who 
always give life and vigor to such scenes. The train 
had scarcely stopped, ere the great throng were wending 
their ways in different directions, — some to the cafes to get 
what an early start prevented their getting before leav- 
ing Paris, and others to see the soldiers who were on 
revievf. But most bent their steps towards the great 

At eleven o'clock Ave were summoned to the dijeuner 
which had been prepared by the English delegates in 
honor of their American friends. About six hundred 
sat down at the tables. Breakfast being ended, Mr. 
Cobden was called to the chair, and several speeches 


were made. Many who had not an opportunity to speak 
at the Congress thought this a good chance ; and the 
written addresses which had been studied during the 
passage from America, with the hope that they would 
immortalize their authors before the Congress, were pro- 
duced at the breakfast-table. But speech-making was 
not the order of the day. Too many thundering ad- 
dresses had been delivered in the Salle de St. Cecile to 
allow the company to sit and hear dryly written and 
worse delivered speeches in the Teniscourt. 

There was no limited time given to the speakers, yet 
no one had been on his feet five minutes before the 
cry was heard from all parts of the house, ^^ Time, 
time ! '' One American was hissed down ; another took 
his seat with a red face ; and a third opened his bundle 
of paper, looked around at the audience, made a bow, 
and took his seat amid great applause. Yet some speeches 
were made, and to good effect ; the best of which was by 
Elihu Burritt, who was followed by the Rev. James 
Freeman Clarke. I regretted very much that the latter 
did not deliver his address before the Congress, for he is 
a man of no inconsiderable talent, and an acknowledged 
friend of the slave. 

The cry of ^' The water- works are playing ! " '' The 
water is on! " broke up the rheeting, without even a vote 
of thanks to the chairman ; and the whole party were 
soon revelling among the fountains and statues of Louis 
XIV. Description would fail to give a just idea of the 
grandeur and beauty of this splendid place. I do not 


think that anything can surpass the fountain of Nep- 
tune, which stands near the Grand Trianon. One may 
easily get lost in wandering through the grounds of 
Versailles, but he will always be in sight of some life- 
like statue. These monuments, erected to gratify the 
fancy of a licentious king, make their appearance at 
every turn. Two lions, the one overturning a wild boar, 
the other a vfolf, both the production of Fillen, pointed 
out to us the fountain of Diana. But I will not attempt 
to describe to you any of the very beautiful sculptured 
gods and goddesses here. 

With a single friend I paid a visit to the two Trianons. 
The larger was, we were told, just as King Louis Philippe 
left it. One room was splendidly fitted up for the recep- 
tion of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, w^ho, it appeared, 
had promised a visit to the French court ; but the 
French monarch ran away from his throne before the 
time arrived. The Grand Trianon is not larger than 
many noblemen's seats that may be seen in a day's ride 
through any part of the British empire. The building 
has only a ground floor, but its proportions are very 

We next paid our respects to the Little Trianon. This 
appears to be the most republican of any of the French 
palaces. I inspected this little palace with much 
interest, not more for its beauty than because of its hav- 
ing been the favorite residence of that purest of prin- 
cesses, and most affectionate of mothers, Marie Antoinette. 
The grounds and building may be said to be only a 


palace in miniature, and this makes it a still more lovely 
spot. The building consists of a square pavilion two 
stories high, and separated entirely from the accessory 
buildings, which are on the left, and among them a 
pretty chapel. But a wish to be with the multitude, 
who were roving among the fountains, cut short my visit 
to the Trianons. 

The day w^as very fine, and the whole party seemed to 
enjoy it. It was said that there were more than one 
hundred thousand persons at Versailles during the day. 
The company appeared to lose themselves with the pleas- 
ure of walking among the trees, flower-beds, fountains, 
and statues. I met more than one wife seeking a lost 
husband, and vice versa. Many persons were separated 
from their friends, and did not meet them again till at 
the hotels in Paris. In the train returning to Paris, an 
old gentleman who was seated near me said, '^I would 
rest contented if I thought I should ever see my wife 
again ! " 

At four o'clock we were en route to St. Cloud, the 
much-loved and favorite residence of the Emperor 
Napoleon. It seemed that all Paris had come out to St. 
Cloud to see how the English and Americans would 
enjoy the playing of the water-works. Many kings and 
rulers of the French have made St. Cloud their resi- 
dence, but none have impressed their image so indelibly 
upon- it as Napoleon. It was here he was first elevated 
to power, and here Josephine spent her most happy 



The apartments where Napoleon was married to Marie 
Louise, the private rooms of Josephine and Marie 
Antoinette, were all in turn shown to us. While stand- 
ing on the balcony looking at Paris one cannot wonder 
that the emperor should have selected this place as his 
residence, for a more lovely spot cannot be found than 
St. Cloud. 

The palace is on the side of a hill, two leagues from 
Paris, and so situated that it looks down upon the French 
capital. Standing, as we did, viewing Paris from St. 
Cloud, and the setting sun reflecting upon the domes, 
spires, and towers of the city of fashion, made us feel that 
this was the place from which the monarch should watch 
his subjects. From the hour of arrival at St. Cloud till 
near eight o'clock, we were either inspecting the splendid 
palace, or roaming the grounds and gardens, whose beau- 
tiful walks and sweet flowers made it appear a very 
paradise on earth. 

At eight o'clock the water- works were put in motion, 
and the variegated lamps, with their many devices, dis- 
playing flowers, stars and wheels, all with a brilliancy 
that can scarcely be described, seemed to throw every- 
thing in the shade we had seen at Versailles. At nine 
o'clock the train was announced, and after a good deal 
of jamming and pushing about, we were again on the way 
to Paris. 


** Types of a race who shall the invader scorn, 
As rocks resist the billows round their shore ; 
Types of a race who shall to time unborn 
Their country leave unconquered as of yore." 


I STARTED at an early hour for the palace of the Tuil- 
eries. A show of my card of membership of the Con- 
gress (which had carried me through so many of the 
public buildings) was enough to gain me immediate 
admission. The attack of the mob on the palace, on the 
20th of June, 1792 ; the massacre of the Swiss guard, on 
the 10 th of August of the same year ; the attack by the 
people, in July, 1830, together with the recent flight 
of King Louis Philippe and family, made me anxious to 
visit the old pile. 

We were taken from room , to room, until the entire 
building had been inspected. In front of the Tuileries 
are a most magnificent garden and grounds. These 
were all laid out by Louis XIV., and are left nearly as 
they were during that monarch's reign. Above fifty 
acres, surrounded by an iron rail-fence, fronts the Place 
de la Concorde, and affords a place of promenade for the 


Parisians. I walked the grounds, and saw hundreds of 
well-dressed persons under the shade of the great chest- 
nuts, or sitting on chairs, which were kept to let at two 
sous a piece. Near by is the Place de Carrousel, noted 
for its historical remembrances. Many incidents con- 
nected with the several revolutions occurred here, and it 
is pointed out as the place where Napoleon reviewed 
that formidable army of his, before its departure for 

From the Tuileries I took a stroll through the Place 
de la Concorde, which has connected with it so many 
acts of cruelty, that it made me, shudder as I passed 
over its grounds. As if to take from one's mind the old 
associations of this place, the French have erected on it, 
or rather given a place to, the celebrated obelisk of 
Luxor, which now is the chief attraction on the grounds. 
The obelisk was brought from Egypt at an enormous 
expense, for which purpose a ship was built, and several 
hundred men employed above three years in its removal. 
It is formed of the finest red syenite, and covered on 
each side with three lines of hieroglyphic inscriptions, 
commemorative of Sesostris, — the middle lines being the 
most deeply cut and most carefully finished ; and the 
characters altogether number more than sixteen hun- 
dred. The obelisk is of a single stone, is seventy-two 
feet in height, weighs five hundred' thousand pounds, 
and stands on a block of granite that weighs two hun- 
dred and fifty thousand pounds. He who can read 


Latin will see that the monument tells its own story, but 
to me its characters were all blank. 

It would be tedious to follow the history of this old 
and venerated stone, which was taken from the quarry 
fifteen hundred and fifty years before the birth of Christ, 
placed in Thebes, its removal, the journey to the Nile, 
and down the Nile, thence to Cherbourg, and lastly its 
arrival in Paris on the 23d of December, 1833, — just 
one year before I escaped from slavery. The obelisk 
was raised on the spot where it now stands, on the 25th 
of October, 1836, in the presence of Louis Philippe, and 
amid the greetings of one hundred and sixty thousand 

Having missed my dinner, I crossed over to the Palais 
Royal, to a dining saloon, and can assure you that a 
better dinner may be had there for three francs than can 
be got in New York for twice that sum,— especially 
if the person who wants the dinner is a colored man. I 
found no prejudice against my complexion in the Palais 

Many of the rooms in this once abode of royalty are 
most splendidly furnished, and decorated with valuable 
pictures. The likenesses of Madame de Stael, J. J. 
Rousseau, Cromwell and Francis L, are among them. 

After several unsuccessful attempts to~day, in com- 
pany with R. D. Webb, Esq., to seek out the house 
where once resided the notorious Robespierre, I was 
fortunate Enough to find it, but not until I had lost the 
company of my friend. The house is No. 396, Rue St. 


HonorGj opposite the Church of the Assumption. It 
stands back, and is reached by entering a court. Dur- 
ing the first revolution it was occupied by M. Duplay, 
"with Avhom Robespierre lodged. The room used by the 
great man of the revolution was pointed out to me. It 
is small, and the ceiling low, with two windows looking 
out upon the court. The pin upon which the blue coat 
once hung is still in the wall. While standing there, I 
could almost imagine that I saw the great -'Incorrupti- 
ble,'' sitting at the small table, composing those speeches 
which gave him so much power and influence in the con- 
vention and the clubs. 

Here the disciple of Eousseau sat and planned how he 
should outdo his enemies and hold on to his friends. 
From this room he went forth, followed by his dog 
Brunt, to take his solitary walk in a favorite and neigh- 
boring field, or to the fiery discussions of the National 
Convention. In the same street is the house in which 
Madame Roland — one of Robespierre's victims — - 

A view of the residence of one of the master-spirits of 
the French Revolution inclined me to search out more ; 
and, therefore, I proceeded to the old town, and after 
winding through several small streets — some of them so 
narrow as not to admit more than one cab at a time — I 
found myself in the Rue de L'Ecole de Medecine, and 
standing in front of house No. 20. This was the resi- 
dence, during the early days of the revolution, of that 
blood-thirsty demon in human form, Marat. 


As this was private property, my blue card of mem- 
bership to the Congress was not available. But after 
slipping a franc into the old lady's hand 3 I was in- 
formed that I could be admitted. We entered a court 
and ascended a flight of stairs, the entrance to which is 
on the right ; then, crossing to the left, we were shown 
into a moderate-sized room on the first floor, with two 
windows looking out upon a yard. Here it was where 
the ''Friend of the People" (as he styled himself) sat 
and wrote those articles that appeared daily in his jour- 
nal, urging the people to ''hang the rich upon lamp- 
posts." The place where the bath stood, in which he 
was bathing at the time he was killed by Charlotte Cor- 
day, was pointed to us ; and even something represent- 
ing an old stain of blood was shown as the place where 
he Avas laid when taken out of the bath. The window, 
behind whose curtains the heroine hid, after she had 
plunged the dagger into the heart of the man whom she 
thought was the cause of the shedding of so much blood 
by the guillotine, was pointed out with a seeming de- 
gree of pride by the old woman. 

With my Guide Book in hand, I again went forth to 
^'hunt after new fancies." 

After walking over the ground where the guillotine 
once stood, cutting off its hundred and fifty heads per 
day, and then visiting the place where some of the chief 
movers in that sanguinary revolution once lived, I felt 
little disposed to sleep, when the time for it had arrived. 
However, I was out the next morning at an early hour, 


and on the Champs Elysees ; and again took a walk over 
the place where the guillotine stood when its fatal blade 
was sending so many unprepared spirits into eternity. 
When standing here, you have the palace of the Tuil- 
eries on one side, the arch on the other, on a third the 
classic Madeleine, and on the fourth the National As- 
sembly. It caused my blood to chill, the idea of being 
on the identical spot where the heads of Louis XVI. and 
his queen, after being cut off, were held up to satisfy 
the blood-thirsty curiosity of the two hundred thousand 
persons that were assembled on the Place de la Revolu- 
tion. Here royal blood flowed as it never did before or 
since. The heads of patricians and plebeians were 
thrown into the same basket, without any regard to birth 
or station. Here Robespierre and Danton had stood 
ao-ain and ao-ain, and looked their victims in the face as 
they ascended the scaffold ; and here these same men 
had to mount the very scaffold that they had erected for 
others. I wandered up the Seine, till I found myself 
looking at the statue of Henry IV., over the princi- 
pal entrance of the Hotel de Ville. When we take into 
account the connection of the Hotel de Ville with the 
different revolutions, we must come to the conclusion 
that it is one of the most remarkable buildings in Paris. 
The room was pointed out where Robespierre held his 
counsels, and from the windows of which he could look 
out upon the Place de Greve, where the guillotine stood 
before its removal to the Place de la Concorde. The 
room is large, with gilded hangings, splendid old-fash- 


ioned chandeliers, and a chimney-piece with fine, anti- 
quated carvings, that give it a venerable appearance. 
Here Robespierre not only presided ^t the counsels that 
sent hundreds to the guillotine, but from this same spot 
he, with his brother, St. Just and others, were dragged 
before the Committee of Public Safety, and thence to 
the guillotine, and justice and revenge satisfied. 

The window from which Lafayette addressed the peo- 
ple in 1880, and presented to them Louis Philippe as 
the king, was shown to us. Here the poet, statesman, 
philosopher and orator, Lamartine, stood in February, 
1848, and, by the power of his eloquence, succeeded in 
keeping the people quiet. Here he forced the mob, 
braved the bayonets presented to his breast, and, by his 
good reasoning, induced them to retain the tri-colored 
flag, instead of adopting the red flag, which he consid- 
ered the emblem of blood. 

Lamartine is a great heroic genius, dear to liberty and 
to France ; and successive generations, as they look back 
upon the revolution of 1848, will recall to memory the 
many dangers which nothing but his dauntless courage 
warded off. The difiiculties which his wisdom sur- 
mounted, and the good service that he rendered to 
France, can never be adequately estimated, or too highly 
appreciated. It was at the Hotel de Ville that the 
republic of 1848 y/as proclaimed to the people. 

I next paid my respects to the Column of July, that 
stands on the spot formerly occupied by the Bastile. It 
is one hundred and sixty-three feet in height, and on the 


top is the Genius of Liberty, with a torch in his right 
hand, and in the left a broken chain. After a fatiguing 
walk up a winding stair, I obtained a splendid view of 
Paris from the top of the column. 

I thought I should not lose the opportunity of seeing 
the Church de Notre Dame while so near to it, and, 
therefore, made it my next rallying-point. No edifice 
connected with religion has had more interesting inci- 
dents occurring in it than this old church. Here Pope 
Pius VII. placed the imperial crown on the head of the 
Corsican, — or, rather. Napoleon took the crown from his 
hands, and placed it on his own head. Satan dragging 

the wicked to , the rider on ..the red horse at the 

opening of the second seal, the blessedness of the saints, 
and several other striking sculptured figures, were among 
the many curiosities in this splendid place. A hasty view 
from the gallery concluded my visit to the Notre Dame. 

Leaving the old church, I strayed off in a direction 
towards the Seine, and passed by an old-looking building 
of stately appearance, and recognized, among a throng 
passing in and out, a number of the members of the Peace 
Congress. I joined a party entering, and was soon in 
the presence of men with gowns on, and men with long 
staffs in their hands, and, on inquiry, found that I was in 
the Palais de Justice, beneath which is the Conciergerie, 
a noted prison. Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette were 
tried and condemned to death here. 

A bas-relief, by Cortat, representing Louis in confer- 
ence with his Council, is here seen. But I had visited 


too many places of interest during the day to remain 
long in a building surrounded by officers of justice, and 
took a stroll upon the Boulevards. 

The Boulevards may be termed the Regent-street of 
PariSj or a New Yorker would call it Broadway. While 
passing a cafe, my German friend Faigo, whose company 
I had enjoyed during the passage from America, recog- 
nized me, and I sat down and took a cup of delicious 
cofiFee for the first time on the side-walk, in sight of hun- 
dreds who were passing up and down the street every 
hour. From three till eleven o'clock, p. M., the Boule- 
vards are lined with men and women sitting before the 
doors of the saloons, drinking their coffee or wines, or 
both at the same time, as fancy may dictate. All Paris 
appeared to be on the Boulevards, and looking as if the 
great end of this life was enjoyment. 

Anxious to see as much as possible of Paris in the 
limited time I had to stay in it, I hired a cab on the fol- 
lowing morning, and commenced with the Hotel des 
Invalides, a magnificent building, within a few minutes' 
walk of the National Assembly. On each side of the 
entrance-gate are figures representing nations conquered 
by Louis XIV., with colossal statues of Mars and 
Minerva. The dome on the edifice is the loftiest in 
Paris, the height from the ground being three hundred 
and twenty-three feet. 

Immediately below the dome is the tomb of the man -a4; 
whose word the world turned pale. A statue of the 


Emperor Napoleon stands in the second piazza, and is of 
the finest bronze. 

This building is the home of the pensioned soldiers of 
France. It was enough to make one sick at the idea of 
war, to look upon the mangled bodies of these old soldiers. 
Men with arms and no legs; others had legs but no 
arms ; some with canes and crutches, and some wheeling 
themselves about in little hand-carts. About three 
thousand of the decayed soldiers were lodged in the 
Hotel des Invalides, at the time of my visit. Passing 
the National Assembly on my return, I spent a moment 
or two in it. The interior of this building resembles an 
amphitheatre. It is constructed to accommodate nine 
hundred members, each having a separate desk. The 
seat upon which the Duchess of Orleans and her son, the 
Comte de Paris, sat, when they visited the National 
Assembly after the flight of Louis Philippe, was shown 
with considerable alacrity. As I left the building, I 
heard that the president of the republic was on the point 
of leaving the Elysee for St. Cloud, and, with the hope 
of seeing the -'prisoner of Ham," I directed my cabman 
to drive me to the Elysee. 

In a few moments we were between two files of sol- 
diers, and entering the gates of the palace. I called out 
to the driver, and told him to stop ; but I was too late, 
for we were now in front of the massive doors of the pal- 
ace, and a liveried servant opened the cab door, bowed, 
and asked if I had an engagement with the president. 
You may easily ^' guess'' his surprise when I told him 


no. In my best French I asked the cabman why he had 
come to the palace, and was answered, ^'You told me 
to." By this time a number had gathered xound, all 
making inquiries as to what I wanted. I told the driver 
to retrace his steps, and, amid the shrugs of their shoul- 
ders, the nods of their heads, and the laughter of the 
soldiers, I left the Elysee without even a sight of the 
president's moustache for my trouble. This w^as only 
one of the many mistakes I made while in Paris. 


** The moon on the east oriel shone 
Through slender shafts of shapely stone, 

By foliaged tracery combined. 
Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand 
'Twixt poplars straight the osier wand 
In many a freakish knot had twined : 
Then framed a spell, when the work was done. 
And changed the willow wreaths to stone." 

Sir Walter Scott. 

Here I am, within ten leagues of Paris, spending the 
time pleasantly in viewing the palace and grounds of the 
great chateau of Louis XIV. Fifty-seven years ago, a 
mob, composed of men, women and boys, from Paris, 
stood in front of this palace, and demanded that the king 
should go with them to the capital. I have walked over 
the same ground where the one hundred thousand stood 
on that interesting occasion. I have been upon the same 
balcony, and stood by the window from which Marie 
Antoinette looked out upon the mob that were seeking 
her life. 

Anxious to see as much of the palace as I could, and 
having an offer of the company of my young friend, 
Henry G. Chapman, to go through the palace with me, I 


set out early this morning, and was soon in the halls that 
had often been trod by royal feet. We passed through 
the private as well as the public apartments; through 
the secret door by which Marie Antoinette had escaped 
from the mob of 1792 ; and viewed the room in which her 
faithful guards were killed, while attempting to save their 
royal mistress. I took my seat in one of the little parlor 
carriages that had been used in days of yore for the royal 
children, while my friend H. G. Chapman drew me 
across the room. The superb apartments are not now in 
use. Silence is written upon these walls, although upon 
them are suspended the portraits of men of whom the 
world has heard. 

Paintings representing Napoleon in nearly all his bat- 
tles are here seen ; and, wherever you see the emperor, 
there you will also find Murat, with his white plume 
waving above. Callot's painting of the battle of Ma- 
rengo, Hue's of the retaking of Genoa, and Bouchat's 
of the 18th Brumaire, are of the highest order ; while 
David has transmitted his fame to posterity by his 
splendid painting of the coronation of Napoleon and Jo- 
sephine in Notre Dame. When I looked upon the many 
beautiful paintings of the last-named artist that adorn 
the halls of Versailles, I did not wonder that his fame 
should have saved his life when once condemned and 
sentenced to death during the reign of terror. The guiL 
lotine was robbed of its intended victim ; but the world 
gained a great painter. As Boswell transmitted his own 
name to posterity with his life of Johnson, so has David 


left his with the magnificent paintings that are now sus- 
pended upon the walls of the palaces of the Louvre, the 
Tuileries, St. Cloudj Versailles, and even the little 

After strolling from room to room, we found ourselves 
in the Salle du Sacre, Diane, Salon de Mars, de Mer- 
eure, and D'ApoUon. I gazed with my eyes turned to 
the ceiling till I was dizzy. The Salon de la Guerre is 
covered with the most beautiful representations that the 
mind of man could conceive, or the hand accomplish. 
Louis XIV. is here in all his glory. No Marie Antoi- 
nette will ever do the honors in these halls again. 

After spending a whole day in the palace, and several 
mornings in the gardens, I finally bade adieu to the 
bronze statue of Louis XIV. that stands in front of the 
palace, and left Versailles, probably forever. 

I am now on the point of quitting the French metrop- 
olis. I have occupied the last two days in visiting places 
of note in the city. I could not resist the inclination to 
pay a second visit to the Louvre. Another hour was 
spent in strolling through the Italian Hall, and viewing 
the master workmanship of Raphael, the prince of paint- 
ers. Time flies, even in such a place as the Louvre, 
with all its attractions ; and, before I had seen half that 
I wished, a ponderous clock near by reminded me of 
an engagement, and I reluctantly tore myself from the 
splendors of the place. 

During the rest of the day I visited the Jardin des 
Plantes, and spent an hour and a half pleasantly in 


walking among plants, flowers, and, in fact, everything 
that could be found in any garden in France. From 
this place we paid our respects to the Bourse, or Ex- 
change, one of the most superb buildings in the city. 
The ground floor and sides of the Bourse are of fine 
marble, and the names of the chief cities in the world are 
inscribed on the medallions which are under the upper 
cornice. The interior of the edifice has a most splendid 
appearance as you enter it. 

The cemetery of Pere la Chaise was too much talked 
of by many of our party at the hotel for me to pass it 
by ; so I took it, after the Bourse. Here lie many of 
the great marshals of France, the resting-place of each 
marked by the monument that stands over it, except one, 
which is marked only by a weeping willow and a plain 
stone at its head. This is the grave of Marshal Ney. I 
should not have known that it was his, but some unknown 
hand had written, with black paint, ^'Bravest of the 
Brave," on the unlettered stone that stands at the head 
of the man who followed Napoleon through nearly all his 
battles, and who was shot, after the occupation of Paris 
by the allied army. Peace to his ashes ! During my 
ramble through this noted place, I saw several who were 
hanging fresh wreaths of ^'everlasting flowers'' on the 
tombs of , the departed. 

A ride in an omnibus down the Boulevards, and away 
up the Champs Elysees, brought me to the Arc de Tri- 
omphe ; and, after ascending a flight of one hundred and 
sixty-one steps, I was overlooking the city of statuary. 


This stupendous monument was commenced by Napoleon 
in 1806 ; and in 1811 it had only reached the cornice of 
the base, where it stopped, and it was left for Louis 
Philippe to finish. The first stone of this monument 
was laid on the 15th of August, 1806, the birth-day of 
the man whose battles it was intended to commemorate. 
A model of the arch was erected for Napoleon to pass 
through as he was entering the city with Maria Louisa, 
after their marriage. The inscriptions on the monument 
are many, and the different scenes here represented are 
all of the most exquisite workmanship. The genius of 
War is summoning the obedient nations to battle. Vic- 
tory is here crowning Napoleon after his great success in 
1810. Fame stands here recording the exploits of the 
warrior, while conquered cities lie beneath the whole. 
Eut it would take more time than I have at command to 
give anything like a description of this magnificent piece 
of architecture. 

That which seems to take most with Peace Friends is 
the portion representing an old man taming a bull for 
agricultural labor; while a young warrior is sheathing 
his sword, a mother and children sitting at his feet, and 
Minerva, crowned with laurels, stands shedding her pro- 
tecting influence over them. The erection of this regal 
monument is wonderful, to hand down to posterity the 
triumphs of the man whom we first hear of as a student 
in the military school at Brienne ; whom in 1784 we see 
in the Ecole Militaire, founded by Louis XV. in 1751; 
whom again we find at No. 5 Quai de Court, near Rue 


de Mail ; and in 1794 as a lodger at No. 19 Rue de la 
Michandere. From this he goes to the Hotel Mirabeau, 
Rue du Dauphin, where he resided when he defeated his 
enemies on the 13th Vendemaire. The Hotel de la Co- 
lonade, Rue Neuve des Capuchins, is his next residence, 
and where he was married to Josephine. From this hotel 
he removed to his wife's dwelling in the Rue Chanteriene, 
No. 52. In 1796 the young general started for Italy, 
where his conquests paved the way for the ever-memora- 
ble 18th Brumaire, that made him Dictator of France. 
Napoleon was too great now to be satisfied with private 
dwellings, and we next trace him to the Elysee, St. Cloud, 
Versailles, the Tuileries, Fontainebleau, and, finally, came 
his decline, which I need not relate to you. 

After visiting the Gobelins, passing through its many 
rooms, seeing here and there a half-finished piece of 
tapestry, and meeting a number of the members of the 
late Peace Congress, who, like myself, had remained be- 
hind to see more of the beauties of the French capital 
than could be seen during the Convention week, I 
accepted an invitation to dine with a German gentleman 
at the Palais Royal, and was soon revelling amid the 
luxuries of the table. I was glad that I had gone to the 
Palais Royal, for here I had the honor of an introduction 
to M. Beranger, the poet ; and, although I had to con- 
verse with him through an interpreter, I enjoyed his 
company very much. ^' The people's poet," as he is 
called, is apparently about seventy years of age, bald on 
the top of the head, and rather corpulent, but of active 


look, and in the enjoyment of good health. Few writers 
in France have done better service to the cause of politi- 
cal and religious freedom than Pierre Jean de Beranger. 
He is the dauntless friend and advocate of the down- 
trodden poor and oppressed, and has often incurred the 
displeasure of the government by the arrows that he has 
thrown into their camp. He felt what he wrote ; it came 
straight from his heart, and went directly to the hearts of 
the people. He expressed himself strongly opposed to 
slavery, and said, ^'I don't see how the Americans can 
reconcile slavery with their professed love of freedom." 
Dinner out of the way, a walk through the different 
aparcments, and a stroll over the court, and I bade adieu 
to the Palais Royal, satisfied that I should partake of 
many worse dinners than I had helped to devour that 

Few nations are more courteous than the French. 
Here, the stranger, let him come from what country he 
may, and be ever so unacquainted with the people and 
language, is sure of a civil reply to any question that 
he may ask. With the exception of the egregious blunder 
I have mentioned of the cabman driving me to the Elysee, 
I was not laughed at once while in France. 



" There was not, on that day, a speck to stain 
The azure heavens ; the blessed sun alone, 
In unapproachable divinity, 
Careered rejoicing in the field of light." 


The sun had just appeared from behind a cloud and 
was setting, and its reflection upon the domes and spires 
of the great buildings in Paris made everything appear 
lovely and sublime, as the train, with almost lightning- 
speed, was bringing me from the French metropolis. I 
gazed with eager eyes to catch a farewell glance of the 
tops of the regal palaces through which I had passed 
during a stay of fifteen days in the French capital. 

A pleasant ride of four hours brought us to Boulogne, 
w^here we rested for the night. The next morning I was 
up at an early hour, and out viewing the town. Bou- 
logne could present but little attraction after a fortnight 
spent in seeing the lions of Paris. A return to the hotel, 
and breakfast over, we stepped on board the steamer, and 
were soon crossing the channel. Two hours more, and I 
was safelj seated in a railway carriage, en route to the 


English metropolis. We reached London at mid-day, 
where I was soon comfortably lodged at 22 Cecil-street, 
Strand. As it was three o'clock, I lost no time in seeking 
out a dining saloon, which I had no difficulty in finding 
in the Strand. It being the first house of the kind I had 
entered in London, I was not a little annoyed at the 
politeness of the waiter. The first salutation I had, after 
seating myself in one of the stalls, was, ^^ Ox tail, sir; 
gravy soup; carrot soup, sir; roast beef; roast pork; 
boiled beef; roast lamb; boiled leg^of mutton, sir, with 
caper sauce; jugged hare, sir; boiled knuckle of veal 
and J)acon ; roast turkey and oyster sauce ; sucking pig, 
sir; curried chicken; harrico mutton, sir." These, and 
many other dishes, which I have forgotten, were called 
over with a rapidity that would have done credit to one 
of our Yankee pedlers in crying his wares in a New 
England village. I was so completely taken by surprise, 
that I asked for a ^' bill of fare," and told him to leave 
me. No city in the world furnishes a cheaper, better, 
and quicker meal for the weary traveller, than a London 

M, M, Ji. M, -^ -^ 

-j^ -TT "TT ^ -fr 'fr 

A few days after my arrival in London, I received an 
invitation from John Lee, Esq., LL.D., whom I had 
met at the Peace Congress in Paris, to pay him a visit at 
his seat, near Aylesbury; and as the time was ^^ fixed" 
by the doctor, I took the train on the appointed day, on 
my way to Hartwell House. 

I had heard much of the aristocracy of England, and 


must confess that I was not a little prejudiced against 
them. On a bright sunshiny day, between the hours of 
twelve and two, I found myself seated in a carriage, my 
back turned upon Aylesbury, the vehicle whirling rapidly 
over the smooth macadamised road, and I on my first 
visit to an English gentleman. Twenty minutes' ride, 
and a turn to the right, and we were amid the fine old 
trees of Hartwell Park ; one having suspended from its 
branches the national banners of several difierent coun- 
tries, among them the '^ Stars and Stripes." I felt 
glad that my own country's flag had a place there, 
although Campbell's lines — 

** United States, your banner wears 

Two emblems, — one of fame ; 
Alas ! the other that it bears 

Eeminds ns of your shame ! 
The white man's liberty in types 

Stands blazoned by your stars ; 
But what 's the meaning of your stripes ? — 

They mean your Negro-scars " — 

were at the time continually ^running through my mind. 
Arrived at the door, and we received what every one 
'does who visits Dr. Lee — a hearty welcome. I was im- 
mediately shown into a room with a lofty ceiling, hung 
round with fine specimens of the Italian masters, and told 
that this was my apartment. Hartwell House stands in 
an extensive park, shaded with trees that made me think 
of the oaks and elms in an American forest, and many 
of whose limbs had been trimmed and nursed with the 
best of fare. This was for several years the residence of 


John Hampden tlie patriot, and more recently that of 
Louis XVIII., during his exile in this country. The 
house is built on a very extensive scale, and is orna- 
mented in the interior with carvings in wood of many of 
the kings and princes of bygone centuries. A room 
some sixty feet by twenty- five contains a variety of 
articles that the doctor has collected together — the vf hole 
forming a museum that vfould be considered a sight in 
the Western States of America. 

The morning after my arrival at Hartwell I was up at 
an early hour — in fact, before any of the servants — 
wandering about through the vast halls, and trying to 
find my way out ; in which I eventually succeeded, but 
not, however, without aid. It had rained the previous 
night, and the sun was peeping through a misty cloud as 
I strolled through the park, listening to the sweet voices 
of the birds that were fluttering in the tops of the trees, 
and trimming their wings for a morning flight. The 
silence of the night had not yet been broken by the voice 
of man ; and I wandered about the vast park unannoyed, 
except by the dew from the grass that wet my slippers. 
Not far from the house I came abruptly upon a beautiful 
little pond of water, where the gold-fish were flouncing 
about, and the gentle ripples glittering in the sunshine 
looked like so many silver minnows playing on the sur- 

While strolling about with pleasure, and only regret- 
ting that my dear daughters were not with me to enjoy 
the morning's walk, I saw the gardener on his way to 


the garden. I followed him, and was soon feasting my 
eyes upon the richest specimens of garden scenery. 
There were the peaches hanging upon the trees that were 
fastened to the wall ; vegetables, fruit and flowers, were 
there in all their bloom and beauty ; and even the varie- 
gated geranium of a warmer clime w^as there in its hot- 
house home, and seemed to have forgotten that it was in 
a different country from its own. Dr. Lee shows great 
taste in the management of his garden. I have seldom 
seen a more splendid variety of fruits and flowers in the 
Southern States of America than I saw at Hartwell 

I should, however, state that I was not the only guest 
at Hartwell during my stay. Dr. Lee had invited 
several others of the American delegation to the Peace 
Congress, and two or three of the French delegates, who 
were on a visit to England, were enjoying the doctor's 
hospitality. Dr. Lee is a stanch friend of Temperance, 
as well as of the cause of universal freedom. Every 
year he treats his tenantry to a dinner, and I need not 
add that these are always conducted on the principle of 
total abstinence. 

During the second day we visited several of the cot- 
tages of the work-people, and in these I took no little 
interest. The people of the United States know nothing 
of the real condition of the laboring classes of England. 
The peasants of Great Britain are always spoken of as 
belonging to the soil. I was taught in America that the 
English laborer was no better off than the slave upon a 


Carolina rice-field. I had seen the slaves in Missouri 
huddled together, three, four, and even five families in a 
single room, not more than fifteen by twenty-five feet 
square, and I expected to see the same in England. But 
in this I Avas disappointed. After visiting a new house 
that the doctor was building, he took us into one of the 
cottages that stood near the road, and gave us an oppor- 
tunity of seeing, for the first time, an English peasant's 
cot. We entered a low, whitewashed room, with a stone 
floor that showed an admirable degree of cleanness. 
Before us was a row of shelves filled with earthen dishes 
and pewter spoons, glittering as if they had just come 
from under the hand of a woman of taste. A ^^Cobden 
loaf of bread, that had just been left by the baker's 
boy, lay upon an oaken table which had been much worn 
away with the scrubbing-brush ; while just above lay 
the old family Bible, that had been handed down 
from father to son, until its possession was consid- 
ered of almost as great value as its contents. A half- 
open door, leading into another room, showed us a clean 
bed ; the whole presenting as fine a picture of neatness, 
order and comfort, as the most fastidious taste could 
wish to see. No occupant was present, and therefore I 
inspected everything with a greater degree of freedom. 
^^ In front of the cottage was a small grass-plot, with 
here and there a bed of flowers, cheated out of its share 
of sunshine by the tall holly that had been planted near 
it." As I looked upon the home of the laborer, my 
thoughts were with my enslaved countrymen. What a 


difference, thought I, there is betv/een the tillers of the 
soil in England and America ! There could not be 
a more complete refutation of the assertion that the 
English laborer is no better off than the American slave, 
than the scenes that were then before me. I called the 
attention of one of my American friends to a beautiful 
rose near the door of the cot, and said to him, ^' The law 
that will protect that flower will also guard and protect 
the hand that planted it." He knew that I had drank 
deep of the cup of slavery, was aware of what I meant, 
and merely nodded his head in reply. I never experi- 
enced hospitality more genuine, and yet more unpretend- 
ing, than was meted out to me w^hile at Hartwell. And 
the favorable impression made on my own mind by the 
distinguished proprietor of Hartwell Park was nearly as 
indelible as my humble name that the doctor had en- 
graven in a brick, in a vault beneath the Observatory in 
Hartwell House. 

On my return to London I accepted an invitation to 
join a party on a visit to Windsor Castle ; and, taking the 
train at the Waterloo Bridge Station, we were soon pass- 
ing through a pleasant part of the country. Arrived 
at the castle, we committed ourselves into the hands of 
the servants, and were introduced into Her Majesty's 
State Apartments, Audience Chamber, Vandyck Eoom, 
Waterloo Chambers, Gold Pantry, and many others 
whose names I have forgotten. In wandering about the 
different apartments I lost my company, and in trying to 
find them passed through a room in which hung a mag- 


nificent portrait of Charles I., by Vandjck. The hum 
and noise of my companions had ceased, and I had the 
scene and silence to myself I looked in vain for the 
king's evil genius (Cromwell), but he was not in the 
same room. The pencil of Sir Peter Lely has left a 
splendid full-length likeness of James II. George IV. is 
suspended from a peg in the wall, looking as if it w^as 
fresh from the hands of Sir Thomas Lavfrence, its ad- 
mirable painter. I was now in St. George's Hall, and I 
gazed upward to view the beautiful figures on the ceil- 
ing until my neck was nearly out of joint. Leaving this 
room, I inspected with interest the ancient keep of the 
castle. In past centuries this part of the palace was 
used as a prison. Here James the First of Scotland 
was detained a prisoner for eighteen years. I viewed the 
window through which the young prince had often looked 
to catch a glimpse of the young and beautiful Lady Jane, 
daughter of the Earl of Somerset, with whom he was 

From the top of the Round Tower I had a fine view 
of the surrounding country. Stoke Park, once the 
residence of that great friend of humanity and civiliza- 
tion, William Penn, was among the scenes that I beheld 
with pleasure from Windsor Castle. Four years ago, 
when in the city of Philadelphia, and hunting up the 
places associated with the name of this distinguished 
man, and more recently when walking over the farm 
once occupied by him, examining the old malt-house 
which is now left standing, because of the veneration 


■with which the name of the man who built it is held, I 
had no idea that I should ever see the dw^elling which he 
had occupied in the Old World. Stoke Park- is about 
four miles from Windsor, and is now owned by the Right 
Hon. Henry Labouchere. 

The castle, standing as it does on an eminence, and 
surrounded by a beautiful valley covered with splendid 
villas, has a most magnificent appearance. It rears its 
massive towers and irregular w^alls over and above every 
other object. How full this old palace is of material for 
thought ! How one could ramble here alone, or with 
one or two congenial companions, and enjoy a recapitula- 
tion of its history ! But an engagement to be at Croj^- 
don in the evening cut short my stay at Windsor, and 
compelled me to return to town in advance of my party. 

^ :^ -^< ^ ^k ^ 

Having met with John Morland, Esq., at Paris, he gave 
me an invitation to visit Croydon, and deliver a lecture 
on American Slavery; and last evening, at eight o'clock, 
I found myself in a fine old building in the town, and 
facing the first English audience that I had seen in the 
sea-girt isle. It was my first welcome in England. 
The assembly was an enthusiastic one, and made still 
more so by the appearance of George Thompson, Esq., 
M. P., upon the platform. It is not my intention to 
give accounts of my lectures or meetings in these pages. 
I therefore merely say that I left Croydon with a good 
impression of the English, and Heath Lodge with a 


feeling that its occupant was one of the most benevolent 
of men. 

The same party with whom I visited Windsor being 
supplied with a card of admission to the Bank of Eng- 
land, I accepted an invitation to be one of the company. 
We entered the vast building at a little past twelve 
o'clock. The sun threw into the large halls a brilliancy 
that seemed to light up the countenances of the almost 
countless number of clerks, who were at their desks, or 
serving persons at the counters. As nearly all my 
countrymen w^ho visit London pay their respects to this 
noted institution, I shall sum up my visit to it by say- 
ing that it surpassed my highest idea of a bank. But a 
stroll through this monster building of gold and silver 
brought to my mind an incident with which I was con- 
nected a year after my escape from slavery. 

In the autumn of 1835, having been cheated out of 
the previous summer's earnings by the captain of the 
steamer in which I had been employed running away 
with the money, I was, like the rest of the men, left 
without any means of support during the winter, and 
therefore had to seek employment in the neighboring 
tow^ns. I went to the town of Monroe, in the State of 
Michigan, and while going through the principal street 
looking for work, I passed the door of the only barber in 
the toAvn, whose shop appeared to be filled with persons 
waiting to be shaved. As there was but one man at 
work, and as I had, while employed in the steamer, 
occasionally shaved a gentleman who could not perform 


that office himselfj it occurred to me that I might get 
employment here as a journeyman barber. I therefore 
made immediate application for work, but the barber told 
me he did not need a hand. But I was not to be put 
off so easily, and, after making several offers to work 
cheap, I frankly told him that if he would not employ 
me I would get a room near to him, and set up an oppo- 
sition establishment. This threat, however, made no 
impression on the barber ; and, as I was leaving, one of 
the men who were waiting to be shaved said, ^'If you 
want a room in which to commence business, I have one 
on the opposite side of the street." This man followed 
me out ; we went over, and I looked at the room. He 
strongly urged me to set up, at the same time promising 
to give me his influence. I took the room, purchased an 
old table, two chairs, got a pole with a red stripe painted 
around it, and the next day opened, with a sign over the 
door, '^Fashionable Hair-dresser from New York, Em- 
peror of the West." I need not add that my enterprise 
was very annoying to the '^ shop over the way," — 
especially my sign, which happened to be the most 
expensive part of the concern. Of course, I had to tell 
all who came in that my neighbor on the opposite side 
did not keep clean towels, that his razors were dull, and, 
above all, he had never been to Ncav York to see the 
fashions. Neither had I. In a few weeks I had the 
entire business of the town, to the great discomfiture of 
the other barber. 

At this time, money matters in the Western States 


were in a sad condition. Any person who could raise a 
small amount of money was permitted to establish a 
bank, and allowed to issue notes for four times the sum 
raised. This being the case, many persons borrowed 
money merely long enough to exhibit to the bank in- 
spectors, and the borrowed money was returned, and the 
bank left without a dollar in its vaults, if, indeed, it had 
a vault about its premises. The result was, that banks 
were started all over the Western States, and the coun- 
try flooded with worthless paper. These were known as 
the ''Wild-cat Banks." Silver coin being very scarce, 
and the banks not being allowed to issue notes for a 
smaller amount than one dollar, several persons put out 
notes from six to seventy-five cents in value ; these were 
called " Shinplasters." The Shinplaster was in the 
shape of a promissory note, made payable on demand. 
I have often seen persons with large rolls of these bills, 
the whole not amounting to more than five dollars. 
Some weeks after I had commenced business on my 
" own hook,'' I was one evening very much crowded 
with customers ; and, while they were talking over the 
events of the day, one of them said to me, "Emperor, 
you seem to be doing a thriving business. You should 
do as other business men, issue your Shinplasters.'' 
This, of course, as it was intended, created a laugh ; but 
with me it was no laughing matter, for from that moment 
I began to think seriously of becoming a banker. I 
accordingly went a few days after to a printer, and he, 
wishing to get the job of printing, urged me to put out 


my notes, and showed me some specimens of engravings 
that he had just received from Detroit. My head being 
already filled with the idea of a bank, I needed but little 
persuasion to set the thing finally afloat. Before I left 
the printer the notes were partly in type, and I studying 
how I should keep the public from counterfeiting them. 
The next day my Shinplasters were handed to me, the 
whole amount being twenty dollars, and, after being duly 
signed, were ready for circulation. At first my notes did 
not take well ; they were too new, and viewed with a 
suspicious eye. But through the assistance of my cus- 
tomers, and a good deal of exertion on my own part, my 
bills were soon in circulation ; and nearly all the money 
received in return for my notes was spent in fitting up 
and decorating my shop. 

Few bankers get through this world without their 
difiiculties, and I was not to be an exception. A short 
time after my money had been out, a party of young 
men, either wishing to pull down my vanity, or to try 
the soundness of my bank, determined to give it ^^a 
run." After collecting together a number of my bills, 
they came one at a time to demand other money for 
them, and I, not being aware of what was going on, was 
taken by surprise. One day, as I was sitting at my 
table, strapping some new razors I had just got with the 
avails of my ^^ Shinplasters,'' one of the men entered and 
said, ^ ' Emperor, you will oblige me if you will give me 
some other money for these notes of yours.'' I immedi- 
ately cashed the notes with the most worthless of the 


Wild-cat money that I had on hand, but which was a 
lawful tender. The young man had scarcely left, when 
a second appeared, with a similar amount, and demanded 
payment. These were cashed, and soon a third came 
with his roll of notes. I paid these with an air of tri- 
umph, although I had but half a dollar left. I began 
now to think seriously i^hat I should do, or how to act, 
provided another demand should be made. While I was 
thus engaged in thought, I saw the fourth man crossing 
the street, with a handful of notes, evidently my '' Shin- 
plasters." I instantaneously shut the door, and, look- 
ing out of the window, said, ^'I have closed business for 
the day; come to-morrow, and I will see you.'' In 
looking across the street, I saw my rival standing in his 
shop-door, grinning and clapping his hands at my appa- 
rent downfall. I was completely ^-done Brown'^'' for 
the day. However, I was not to be ^^ used up" in this 
way ; so I escaped by the back door, and went in search 
of my friend who had first suggested to me the idea of 
issuing notes. I found him, told him of the difiiculty I 
was in, and wished him to point out a way by which I 
might extricate myself He laughed heartily, and then 
said, '-'• You must act as all bankers do in this part of the 
country." I inquired how they did, and he said, ^' When 
your notes are brought to you, you must redeem them, 
and then send them out and get other money for them, 
and with the latter you can keep cashing your own Shin- 
plasters." This was indeed a new idea to me. I imme- 
diately commenced putting in circulation the notes which 


I had just redeemed, and my efforts were crowned with 
so much success that, before I slept that night, my 
^'^ Shinplasters" were again in circulation, and my bank 
once more on a sound basis. 

As I saw the clerks shovelling out the yellow coin 
upon the counters of the Bank of England, and men 
coming in and going out wiui weighty bags of the 
precious metal in their hands or on their shoulders, I 
could not but think of the great contrast between the 
monster institution within whose walls I was then stand- 
ing and the Wild-cat banks of America ! 


** We might as soon describe a dream 
As tell where falls each golden beam ; 
As soon might reckon up the sand. 
Sweet Weston ! on thy sea-beat strand, 
As count each beauty there." 


I HAVE devoted the past ten days to sight-seeing in 
the metropolis, the first two of which were spent in the 
British Museum. After procuring a guide-book at the 
door as I entered, I seated myself on the first seat that 
caught my eye, arranged as well as I could in my mind 
the difierent rooms, and then commenced in good earnest. 
The first part I visited was the gallery of antiquities,, 
through to the north gallery, and thence to the Lycian 
room. This place is filled with tombs, bas-reliefs, statues, 
and other productions of the same art. Venus, seated, 
and smelling a lotus-flower which she held in her hand, 
and attended by three Graces, put a stop to the rapid 
strides that I was making through this part of the hall. 
This is really one of the most precious productions of the 
art that I have ever seen. Many of the figures in this 


room are very much mutilated ; yet one can linger here 
for hours with interest. A good number of the statues 
are of uncertain date ; they are of great value as works 
of art, and more so as a means of enlightening much that 
has been obscure with respect to Lycia, an ancient and 
celebrated country of Asia Minor. 

In passing through the eastern zoological gallery, I 
was surrounded on every side by an army of portraits 
suspended upon the w^alls; and among these was the 
Protector. The people of one century kicks his bones 
through the streets of London, another puts his portrait 
in the British Museum, and a future generation may 
possibly give him a place in Westminster Abbey. Such 
is the uncertainty of the human character. Yesterday, 
a common soldier ; to-day, the ruler of an empire ; to- 
morrow, suspended upon the gallows. In an adjoining 
room I saw a portrait of Baxter, which gives one a pretty 
good idea of the great nonconformist. In the same room 
hung a splendid modern portrait, without any intimation 
in the guide-book of who it represented, or when it was 
painted. It was so much like one whom I had seen, and 
on whom my affections were placed in my younger days, 
that I obtained a seat from an adjoining room and rested 
myself before it. After sitting half an hour or more, I 
wandered to another part of the building, but only to 
return again to my ''first love," where I remained till 
the throng had disappeared, one after another, and the 
officer reminded me that it was time to close. 

It was eight o'clock before I reached my lodgings. 


Although fatigued by the day's exertions, I again re- 
sumed the reading of Roscoe's ^' Leo X./' and had nearly 
finished seventy-three pages, when the clock on St. Mar- 
tin's Church apprised me that it was two. He who 
escapes from slavery at the age of twenty years, without 
any education, as did the writer of this, must read when 
others are asleep, if he would catch up with the rest of 
the world. ''To be wise," says Pope, ''is but to know 
how little can be known." The true searcher after truth 
and knowledge is always like a child ; although gaining 
strength from year to year, he still ' ' learns to labor and 
to wait." The field of labor is ever expanding before 
him, reminding him that he has yet more to learn; 
teaching him that he is nothing more than a child in 
knowledge, and inviting him onward with a thousand 
varied charrns. The son may take possession of the 
father's goods at his death, but he cannot inherit with 
the property the father's cultivated mind. He may put 
on the father's old coat, but that is all ; the immortal 
mind of the first wearer has gone to the tomb. Property 
may be bequeathed, but knowledge cannot. Then let 
him who would be useful in his day and generation be 
up and doing. Like the Chinese student who learned 
perseverance from the woman whom he saw trying to 
rub a crow-bar into a needlCj so should we take the 
experience of the past to lighten our feet through the 
paths of the future. 

The next morning, at ten, I was again at the door of 
the great building ; was soon within its walls seeing what 


time would not allow of the previous day. I spent some 
hours in looking through glass cases, viewing specimens 
of minerals such as can scarcely be found in any place 
out of the British Museum. During this day I did not 
fail to visit the great library. It is a spacious room, 
surrounded with large glass cases filled with volumes 
whose very look tells you that they are of age. Around, 
under the cornice, were arranged a number of old, black- 
looking portraits, in all probability the authors of some 
of the works in the glass cases beneath. About the 
room were placed long tables, with stands for reading and 
writing, and around these were a number of men busily 
engaged in looking over some chosen author. Old men 
with gray hairs, young men with moustaches, some in 
cloth, others in fustian, — indicating that men of different 
rank* can meet here. Not a single word was spoken 
during my stay ; all appearing to enjoy the silence that 
reigned throughout the great room. This is indeed a 
retreat from the world. No one inquires who the man is 
that is at his side, and each pursues in silence his own 
researches. The racing of pens over the sheets of paper 
was all that disturbed the stillness of the occasion. 

From the library I strolled to other rooms, and feasted 
my eyes on what I had never before seen. He who goes 
over this immense building cannot do so without a feeling 
of admiration for the men whose energy has brought 
together this vast and wonderful collection of things, the 
like of which cannot be found in any other museum in 
the world. The reflection of the setting sun against a 


mirror in one of the rooms told me that night was ap- 
proaching, and I had but a moment in which to take 
another look at the portrait that I had seen on the pre- 
vious day, and then bade adieu to the museum. 

Having published the narrative of my life and escape 
from slavery, and put it into the booksellers' hands, and 
seeing a prospect of a fair sale, I ventured to take from 
my purse the last sovereign to make up a small sum to 
remit to the United States, for the support of my daugh- 
ters, who are at school there. Before doing this, however, 
I had made arrangements to attend a public meeting in 
the city of Worcester, at which the mayor was to preside. 
Being informed by the friends of the slave there that I 
would in all probability sell a number of copies of my 
book, and being told that Worcester was only ten miles 
from London, I felt ~safe in parting with all but a few 
shillings, feeling sure that my purse would soon be again 
replenished. But you may guess my surprise, when I 
learned that Worcester was above a hundred miles from 
London, and that I had not retained money enough to 
defray my expenses to the place. In my haste and wish 
to make up the ten pounds to send to my children, I had 
forgotten that the payment for my lodgings would be 
demanded before I should leave town. Saturday morn- 
ing came ; I paid my lodging-bill, and had three shillings 
and fourpence left ; and out of this sum I was to get 
three dinners, as I was only served with breakfast and 
tea at my lodgings. 

Nowhere in the British empire do the people witness 


as dark days as in London. It was on Mqnd^y morning, 
in the fore part of October, ^s the clock on St. Martin's 
Church was striking ten, that I left my lodgings, ^nd 
turned into the Strand. The street-lamps were yet burn- 
ing, and the shops were all lighted, as if day had not 
made its appearance. This great thoroughfare, as usual 
at this time of the day, was thronged with business men 
going their way, and women sauntering about for pleas- 
ure or for the want of something better to do. I passed 
down the Strand to Charing Cross, and looked in^:vain to 
see the majestic statue of Nelson upon the top of the 
great shaft. The clock on St. Martin's Cliurch struck 
eleven, but my sight could not penetrate through the 
dark veil that hung between its face and me. In fact, 
day had been completely turned into night; and the 
brilliant lights from the shop-windows almost persuaded 
me that another day had not appeared. A London fog 
cannot be described. To be appreciated, it must be seen, 
or, rather, felt, for it is altogether impossible to be clear 
and lucid on such a subject. It is the only thing which 
gives you an idea of what Milton meant w^hen he talked 
of darkness visible. There is a kind of light, to be sure ; 
but it only serves as a medium for a series of optical illu- 
sions ; and, for all useful purposes of vision, the deepest 
darkness that ever fell from the heavens is infinitely pre- 
ferable. A man perceives a coach a dozen yards off, 
and a single stride brings him among the horses' feet; he 
sees a gas-light faintly glimmering (as he thinks) at a 
distance, but scarcely has he advanced a step or two 


towards it, when he becomes convinced of its actual sta- 
tion by finding his head rattling against the post ; and 
as for attempting, if you get once mystified, to distin- 
guish one street from another, it is ridiculous to think 
of such a thing. 

Turning, I retraced my steps, and was soon passing 
through the massive gates of Temple Bar, wending my 
way. to the city, when a beggar-boy at my heels accosted 
me for a half-penny to buy bread. I had scarcely 
served the boy, when I observed near by, and standing 
close to a lamp-post, a colored man, and from his gen- 
eral appearance I was satisfied that he was an American. 
He eyed me attentively as I passed him, and seemed 
anxious to speak. When I had got some distance from 
him I looked back, and his eyes were still upon me. No 
longer able to resist the temptation to speak with him, 
I returned, and, commencing conversation with him, 
learned a little of his history, w^hich was as follows : He 
had, he said, escaped from slavery in Maryland, and 
reached New York ; but not feeling himself secure there, 
he had, through the kindness of the captain of an Eng- 
lish ship, made his way to Liverpool ; and not being 
able to get employment there, he had come - up to Lon- 
don. Here he had met with no better success, and hav- 
ing been employed in the growing of tobacco, and being 
unaccustomed to any other work, he could not get labor 
in England. I told him he had better try to get to the 
West Indies ; but he informed me that he had not a sin- 
gle penny, and that he had had nothing to eat that day. 



By this man's story I was moved to tears, and, going 
to a neighboring shop, I took from my purse my last 
shilling, changed it, and gave this poor brother fugitive 
one half. The poor man burst into tears as I placed the 
sixpence in his hand, and said, ^^ You are the first friend 
I have met in London." I bade him farewell, and left 
him with a feeling of regret that I could not place him 
beyond the reach of want. I went on my way to the 
city, and while going through Cheapside a streak of 
light appeared in the east, that reminded me that it was 
not night. In vain I wandered from street to street, 
with the hope that I might meet some one who would 
lend me money enough to get to Worcester. Hungry 
and fatigued I w^as returning to my lodgings, when the 
great clock of St. Paul's Church, under whose shadow I 
was then passing, struck four. A stroll through Fleet- 
street and the Strand, and I was again pacing my room. 
On my return, I found a letter from Worcester had 
arrived in my absence, informing me that a party of gen- 
tlemen would meet me the next day on my reaching that 
place, and saying, ''Bring plenty of books, as you will 
doubtless sell a large number." The last sixpence had 
been spent for postage-stamps, in order to send off some 
letters to other places, and I could not even stamp a let- 
ter in answer to the one last from Worcester. The only 
vestige of money about me was a smooth farthing that a 
little girl had given to me at the meeting at Croydon, 
saying, '' This is for the slaves." I was three thousand 
miles from home, with but a single farthing in my 




pocket ! Where on earth is a man without money more 
destitute? The cold hills of the Arctic regions have not 
a more inhospitable appearance than London to the 
stranger with an empty pocket. But whilst I felt de- 
pressed at being in such a sad condition, I was conscious 
that I had done right in remitting the last ten pounds to 
America. It was for the support of those whom God 
had committed to my care, and whom I love as I can no 
others. I had no friend in London to whom I could 
apply for temporary aid. My friend, Mr. T , was 
out of town, and I did not know his address. 

The dark day was rapidly passing away, — the clock 
in the hall had struck six. I had given up all hopes of 
reaching Worcester the next day, and had just rung the 
bell for the servant to bring me some tea, when a gentle 
tap at the door was heard ; the servant entered, and in- 
formed me that a gentleman below was wishing to see 
me. I bade her fetch a light and ask hirn up. The 
stranger was my young friend, Frederick Stevenson, son 
of the excellent minister of the Borough-Road Chapel. 
I had lectured in this chapel a few days previous ; and 
this young gentleman, with more than ordinary zeal and 
enthusiasm for the cause of bleeding humanity, and re- 
spect for me. had gone amongst his father's congrega- 
tion and sold a number of copies of my book, and had 
come to bring me the money. I wiped the silent tear 
from my eyes as the young man placed the thirteen half- 
crOAvns in my hand. 1 did not let him know under what 
obligation I was to him for this disinterested act of kind- 


ness. He does not know to this day what aid he has 
rendered to a stranger in a strange land, and I feel that 
I am but discharging in a trifling degree my debt of 
gratitude to this young gentleman, in acknowledging my 
obligation to him. As the man who called for bread and 
cheese, when feeling in his pocket for the last threepence 
to pay for it, found a sovereign that he was not aware he 
possessed, countermanded the order for the lunch, and 
bade them bring him the best dinner they could get ; so 
I told the servant, when she brought the tea, that I had 
changed my mind, and should go out to dine. With the 
means in my pocket of reaching Worcester the next day, 
I sat down to dinner at the Adelphi, with a good cut of 
roast beef before me, and felt myself once more 'm home. 
Thus ended a dark day in London. 


" When I behold, with deepe astonishment, 

To famous Westminster how there resorte. 
Living in brass or stoney monument. 

The princes and the worthies of all sorte ; 
Doe not I see reformde nobilitie. 

Without contempt, or pride, or ostentation. 
And looke upon offenselesse majesty. 

Naked of pomp or earthly domination ? 
And how a play-game of a painted stone 

Contents the quiet now and silent sprites, 
Whome all the world which late they stood upon 

Could not content nor quench their appetites. ^ 

Life is a frost of cold felicitie. 
And death the thaw of all our vanitie." 

For some days past tlie sun has not shown his face ; 
clouds have obscured the sky, and the rain has fallen in 
torrents, which has contributed much to the general 
gloom. However, I have spent the time in as agreeable 
a manner as I well could. Yesterday I fulfilled an en- 
gagement to dine with a gentleman at the Whittington 
Club. One who is unacquainted with the club system as 
carried on in London can scarcely imagine the con- 
veniences they present. Every member appears to be 


at home, and all seem to own a share in the club. 
There is a free-and-easy way with those who frequent 
clubs, and a license given there, that is unknown in the 
drawing-room of the private mansion. I met the gentle- 
man at the club at the appointed hour, and after his 
writing my name in the visitors' book, we proceeded to 
the dining-room, where we partook of a good dinner. 

We had been in the room but a short time, when a 
small man, dressed in black, with his coat buttoned up 
to the chin, entered the saloon, and took a seat at the 
table hard by. My friend, in a low whisper, informed 
me that this person was one of the French refugees. He 
was apparently not more than thirty years of age, and 
exceedingly good-looking, — his person being slight, his 
feet and hands very small and well-shaped, especially his 
hands, which were covered with kid gloves, so tightly 
drawn on that the points of the finger-nails were visible 
thrarugh them. His face was mild and almost womanly 
in its beauty, his eyes soft and full, his brow open and 
ample, his features well defined, and approaching to the 
ideal Greek in contour ; the lines about his mouth were 
exquisitely sweet, and yet resolute in expression ; his 
hair was short — his having no moustache gave him 
nothing of the look of a Frenchman; and I was not a 
little surprised when informed that the person before me 
was Louis Blanc. I could scarcely be persuaded to be- 
lieve that one so small, so child-like in stature, had 
taken a prominent part in the revolution of 1848. He 
held in his hand a copy of La Presse^ and as soon as he 


was seated opened it and began to devour its contents. 
The gentleman with whom I was dining was not ac- 
quainted with him, but at the close of our dinner ho 
procured me an introduction through another gentleman. 
As we were returning to our lodgings, we saw in Ex- 
eter-street, Strand, one of those exhibitions that can be 
seen in almost any of the streets in the suburbs of the 
metropolis, but which is something of a novelty to those 
from the other side of the Atlantic. This was an exhi- 
bition of ^' Punch and Judy.'' Everything was in full 
operation when vfc' reached the spot. A puppet ap- 
peared, eight or ten inches from the waist upwards, with 
an enormous face, huge nose, mouth widely grinning, 
projecting chin, cheeks covered with grog-blossoms, a 
large protuberance on his back, another on his chest ; 
yet with these deformities he appeared uncommonly 
happy. This was Mr. Punch. He held in his right 
hand a tremendous bludgeon, with which he amused 
himself by rapping on the head every one who camo 
within his reach. This exhibition seems very absurd, 
yet not less than one hundred were present ~ children, 
boys, old men, and even gentlemen and ladies, were 
standing by, and occasionally greeting the performer 
with the smile of approbation. Mr. Punch, however, 
was not to have it all his own way, for another and bet- 
ter sort of Panch-like exhibition appeared a few yards 
off, that took away Mr. Punch's audience, to the great 
dissatisfaction of that gentleman. This was an exhibi- 
tion called the Fantoccini, and far superior to any of the 


street performances which I have yet seen. The curtain 
rose and displayed a beautiful theatre in miniature, and 
most gorgeously painted. The organ which accompanied 
it struck up a hornpipe, and a sailor, dressed in his blue 
jacket, made his appearance, and commenced keeping 
time with the utmost correctness. This figure was not 
' so long as Mr. Punch, but much better looking. At the 
close of the hornpipe the little sailor made a bow, and 
tripped off, apparently conscious of having deserved the 
undivided applause of the bystanders. The curtain 
dropped ; but in two or three minutes it was again up, and 
a rope was discovered extended on two cross pieces for 
dancing upon. The tune was changed to an air in 
which the time was marked ; a graceful figure appeared, 
jumped upon the rope with its balance-pole, and dis- 
plaj^ed all the manoeuvres of an expert performer on the 
tight-rope. Many who would turn away in disgust from 
Mr. Punch will stand for hours and look at the perform- 
ances of the Fantoccini. If people, like the Vicar of 
Wakefield, will sometimes '' allow themselves to be 
happy,'-' they can hardly fail to have a hearty laugh at 
the drolleries of the Fantoccini. There may be degrees 
of absurdity in the manner of wasting our time, but there 
is an evident affectation in decrying these humble and 
innocent exhibitions, by those who will sit till two or 
three in the morning to witness a pantomime at a theatre 

^ "^ "itc ■^ 4k -Uf 

•TS' "TV' -JTr fl^ 'K -?? 

An autumn sun shone brightly through a remarkably 


transparent atmosphere this morning, which vras a most 
striking contrast to the weather we had had during the 
past three days ; and I again set out to see some of the 
lions of the city, commencing with the Tower of London. 
Every American, on returning home from a visit to the 
Old World, speaks with pride of the places he saw while 
in Europe ; and of the many resorts of interest he has 
read of, few have made a more lasting impression upon 
his memory than the Tower of London. The stories of 
the imprisoning of kings and queens, the murdering of 
princes, the torturing of men and w^omen, without regard 
to birth, education or station, and of the burning and re- 
building of the old pile, have all sunk deep into his 
heart. A walk of twenty minutes, after being set down 
at the bank by an omnibus, brought me to the gate of the 
Tower. A party of friends who were to meet me there 
had not arrived ; so I had an opportunity of inspecting the 
grounds, and taking a good view of the external appear- 
ance of the old and celebrated building. The Tower is 
surrounded by a high wall, and around this a deep ditch 
partly filled with stagnated water. The wall encloses 
twelve acres of ground, on which stand the several 
towers, occupying, with their walks and avenues, the 
vfhole space. The most ancient part of the building is 
called the '' White Tower,'' so as to distinguish it from 
the parts more recently built. Its walls are seventeen 
feet in thickness, and ninety-two in height, exclusive of 
the turrets, of which there are four. My company 
arrived, and we entered the Tower through four massive 


gateSj the innermost one being pointed out as the 
^^ Water, or Traitors^ Gate/' so called from the fact that 
it opened to the river, and through it the criminals were 
usually brought to the prison within. But this passage 
is now closed up. We visited the various apartments in 
the old building. The room in the Bloody Tower where 
the infant princes were put to death by the command of 
their uncle, Richard III., also the recess behind the 
gate where the bones of the young princes were con- 
cealed, were shown to us. The warden of the prison, who 
showed us through, seemed to have little or no venera- 
tion for Henry VIII. ; for he often cracked a joke or 
told a story at the expense of the murderer of Anne 
Boleyn. The old man wiped the tear from his eye as he 
pointed out the grave of Lady Jane Grey. This w^as 
doubtless one of the best as well as most innocent of 
those who lost their lives in the Tower ; young, virtuous 
and handsome, she became a victim to the ambition of 
her own and her husband's relations. I tried to count 
the names on the wall in '^Beauchamp's Tower,'' but 
they were too numerous. Anne Boleyn was imprisoned 
here. The room in the ^^ Brick Tower " where Lady 
Jane Grey was imprisoned was pointed out as a place of 
interest. We were next shown into the ^' White Tower." 
'We passed through a long room filled with many things 
having a warlike appearance ; and among them a 
number of equestrian figures, as large as life, and clothed 
in armor and trappings of the various reigns from 
Edward I. to James II., or from 1272 to 1685. Eliza- 


beth; or the '' Maiden Queen," as the warden called her, 
was the most imposing of the group ; she was on a cream- 
colored charger. We left the Maiden Queen, to examine 
the cloak upon which General Wolf died at the storming 
of Quebec. In this room Sir Walter Raleigh was im- 
prisoned, and here was written his '^ History of the 
World.'' in his own hand, upon the wall, is written, 
^' Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee a 
crown of life." His Bible is still shown, with these 
memorable lines written in it by himself a short time 
before his death : 

** Even such is Timej that takes on trust, 
Our youth, our joy, our aU we have. 
And pays us but with age and dust ; 
Who in the dark and silent grave. 
When we have wandered all our ways. 
Shuts up the story of our days." 

Spears, battle-axes, pikes, helmets, targets, bows and 
arrows, and many instruments of torture, whose names I 
did not learn, grace the walls of this room. The block 
on which the Earl of Essex and Anne Boleyn were be- 
headed was shown among other objects of interest. A 
view of the '' Queen's Jev/els" closed our visit to the 
Tower. The gold staff of St. Edward, and the Baptis- 
mal Font used at the royal christenings, made of solid 
silver, and more than four feet high, were among the 
jewels here exhibited. The Sword of Justice was there, 
as if to watch the rest of the valuables. However, this 


was not the sword that Peter used. Our acquaintance 
with De Foe, Sir Walter E-aleigh and Chaucer, through 
their writings, and the knowledge that they had been 
incarcerated within the walls of the bastile that we were 
just leaving, caused us to look back again and again upon 
its dark-gray turrets. 

I closed the day with a look at the interior of St. 
Paul's Cathedral. A service was just over, and we met 
a crowd coming out as we entered the great building. 
^^ Service is over, and tuppence for all that wants to 
stay,'' was the first sound that caught our ears. In the 
Burlesque of ^'Esmeralda,'' a man is met in the belfry 
of the Notre Dame at Paris, and, being asked for money 
by one of the vergers, says, 

** I paid three pence at the door, 
And since I came in a great deal more ; ^ 

Upon my honor, you have emptied my purse, — 
St. Paul's Cathedral could not do worse." 

I felt inclined to join in this sentiment before I left 
the church. A fine statue of ''Surly Sam'' Johnson 
was one of the first things that caught our eyes on look- 
ing around. A statue of Sir Edward Packenham, Avho 
fell at the battle of New Orleans, was on the opposite 
side of the great hall. As we had walked over the 
ground where the general fell, we viewed his statue 
with more than ordinary interest. We were taken from 
one scene of interest to another^ until we found ourselves 
in the '^Whispering Gallery,'' From the dome we had 


a splendid view of the metropolis of the world. A scaf- 
fold was erected up here to enable an artist to take 
sketches, from which a panorama of London was painted. 
The artist was three years at work. The painting is now 
exhibited at the Colosseum : but the brain of the artist 
was turned, and he died insane. Indeed, one can 
scarcely conceive how it could be otherwise. You in 
America have no idea of the immensity of this building. 
Pile together half a dozen of the largest churches in New 
York or Boston^ and you will have but a faint represent- 
ation of St. Paul's Cathedral. 

M, -iLf '^ -^^ -i!^ -^ 

^ 'VV "7^ 'Ti' 'TV' -?f 

I have just returned from a stroll of two hours through 
Westminster Abbey. We entered the building at a door 
near Poet's Corner, and, naturally enough, looked around 
for the monuments of the men whose imaginative powers 
have contributed so much to instruct and amuse man- 
kind. I was not a little disappointed in the few I saw. 
In almost any church-yard you may see monuments and 
tombs far superior to anything in Poets' Corner. A few 
only have monuments. Shakspeare, who wrote of man 
to man, and for man to the end of time, is honored with 
one. Addison's monument is also there ; but the greater 
number have nothing more erected to their memories 
than busts or medallions. Poets' Corner is not splendid 
in appearance, yet I observed visitors lingering about it, 
as if they were tied to the spot by love and veneration 
for some departed friend. All seemed to regard it as 
classic ground. No sound louder than a whisper was 


heard during the whole time, except the verger treading 
over the marble floor with a light step. There is great 
pleasure in sauntering about the tombs of those with 
whom we are familiar through their writings ; and we 
tear ourselves from their ashes, as we would from those 
of a bosom friend. The genius of these men spreads 
itself over the whole panorama of nature, giving us one 
vast and varied picture, the color of which will endure to 
the end of time. None can portray like the poet the 
passions of the human soul. The statue of Addison, clad 
in his dressing-gown, is not far from that of Shakspeare. 
He looks as if lie had just left the study, after finishing 
some chosen paper for the Spectator, This memento of 
a great man was the work of the British public. Such 
a mark of national respect was but justice to the one who 
had contributed more to purify and raise the standard of 
English literature than any man of his day. We next 
visited the other end of the same transept, near the 
northern door. Here lie Mansfield, Chatham, Fox, the 
second William Pitt, Grattan, Wilberforce and a few 
other statesmen. But, above all, is the stately monu- 
ment of the Earl of Chatham. In no other place so 
small do so many great men lie together. To these men, 
whose graves strangers from all parts of the world wish 
to view, the British public are in a great measure in- 
debted for England's fame. The high preeminence which 
England has so long enjoyed and maintained in the scale 
of empire has constantly been the boast and pride of the 
English people. The warm panegyrics that have been 


lavished on her constitution and laws, the songs chanted 
to celebrate her glory, the lustre of her arms, as the 
glowing theme of her warriors, the thunder of her artil- 
lery in proclaiming her moral prowess, her flag being 
unfurled to every breeze and ocean, rolling to her shores 
the tribute of a thousand realms, show England to be the 
greatest nation in the world, and speak volumes for the 
great departed, as well as for those of the living present. 
One requires no company, no amusements, no books, in 
such a place as this. Time and death have placed within 
those walls sufficient to occupy the mind, if one should 
stay here a week. 

On my return, I spent an hour very pleasantly in 
the Royal Academy, in the same building as the 
National Gallery. Many of the paintings here are of a 
fine order. Oliver Cromwell looking upon the headless 
corpse of King Charles I. appeared to draw the greatest 
number of spectators. A scene from ^^ As You Like 
It '' was one of the best executed pieces we saw. This 
was ^' Rosalind, Celia and Orlando.'' The artist did 
himself and the subject great credit. Kemble, in Ham- 
let, with that ever-memorable skull in his hand, was one 
of the pieces which we viewed with no little interest. It 
is strange that Hamlet is always represented as a thin, 
lean man, when the Hamlet of Shakspeare was a fat, 
John Bull kind of a man. 

But the best piece in the gallery was ^^ Dante medi- 
tating the episode of Francesca da Rimini and Paolo 
Malatesta, S'Inferno, Canto V/' Our first interest for 


the great Italian poet was created by reading Lord By- 
i-on's poem, '' The Lament of Dante." 'From that hour 
we felt like examining everything connected with the 
poet. The history of poets, as well as painters, is writ- 
ten in their works. The best written life of Goldsmith 
is to be found in his poem of ^^ The Traveller," and his 
novel of ^' The Vicar of Vfakefield." Boswell could not 
have written a better life of himself than he has done in 
giving the Biography of Dr. Johnson. It seems clear 
that no one can be a great poet without having been 
sometime during life a lover, and having lost the object 
of his affection in some mysterious way. Burns had his 
Highland Mary, Byron his Mary, and Dante was not 
without his Beatrice. Whether there ever lived such a 
person as Beatrice seems to be a question upon which 
neither of his biographers has thrown much light. 
However, a Beatrice existed in the poet's mind, if not 
on earth. His attachment to Beatrice Portinari, and 
the linking of her name with the immortality of his 
great poem, left an indelible impression upon his future 
character. The marriage of the object of his affections 
to another, and her subsequent death, and the poet's 
exile from his beloved Florence, together with his death 
amongst strangers, all give an interest to the poet's 
writings which could not be heightened by romance 
itself. When exiled and in poverty, Dante found a 
friend in the father of Francesca. And here, under the 
roof of his protector, he wrote his great poem. The 
time the painter has chosen is evening. Day and night 


meet in mid-air : one star is alone visible. Sailing in 
vacancy are the shadows of the lovers. The countenance 
of Francesca is expressive of hopeless agony. The de- 
lineations are sublime^ the conception is of the highest 
order, and the execution admirable. Dante is seated in 
a marble vestibule, in a meditating attitude, the face 
partly concealed by the right hand upon which it is rest- 
ing. On the whole, it is an excellently painted piece, 
and causes one to go back with a fresh relish to the 
Italian's celebrated poem. 

In coming out we stopped a short while in the upper 
room of the gallery, and spent a few minutes over a 
painting representing Mrs. Siddons in one of Shaks- 
peare's characters. This is by Sir Joshua Keynolds, and 
is only one of the many pieces that we have seen of this 
great artist. His genius was vast and powerful in its 
grasp, his fancy fertile, and his inventive faculty inex- 
haustible in its resources. He displayed the very highest 
powers of genius by the thorough originality of his con- 
ceptions, and by the entirely new path that he struck 
out in art. Well may Englishmen be proud of his name. 
And as time shall step between his day and those that 
follow after him, the more will his works be appreciated. 
We have since visited his grave, and stood over his 
monument in St. Paul's. 


To give implicit credence to eacli tale 

Of monkish legends, — relics to order ; 
To think God honored by the cowl or veil, 

Eegardless who, or what, the emblem wore, 
Indeed is mockery, mummery, nothing more : 

But if cold Scepticism usurp the place 
That Superstition held in days of yore, 

We may not be in much more hopeful case 
Than if we still implored the Virgin Mary's grace. 


Some days since, I left the metropolis to fulfil a few 
engagements to visit provincial towns ; and after a ride 
of nearly eight hours, we were in sight of the ancient 
city of York. It was night, the moon was in her zenith, 
and there seemed nothing between her and the earth but 
glittering cold. The moon, the stars, and the innumer- 
able gas-lights, gave the city a panoramic appearance. 
Like a mountain starting out of a plain, there stood the 
cathedral in its glory, looking down upon the surround- 
ing buildings, with all the appearance of a Gulliver 
standing over the Lilliputians. Night gave us no oppor- 
tunity to view the minster. However, we were up the 
next morning before the sun, and walking round the 


cathedral with a degree of curiosity seldom excited 
within us. It is thought that a building of the same 
dimensions would take fifty years to complete it at the 
present time, even with all the improvements of the 
nineteenth century, and would cost no less than the enor- 
mous sum of two millions of pounds sterling. From 
what I had heard of this famous cathedral, my expecta- 
tions were raised to the highest point ; but it surpassed 
all the idea that I had formed of it. On entering the 
building, we lost all thought of the external appearance 
by the matchless beauty of the interior. The echo pro- 
duced by the tread of our feet upon the floor as we 
entered, resounding through, the aisles, seemed to say, 
•' Pat off your shoes, for the place whereon you tread is 
holy ground.'' We stood with hat in hand, and gazed 
with wonder and astonishment down the incomparable 
vista of more than five hundred feet. The organ, which 
stands near the centre of the building, is said to be one 
of the finest in the world. A wall, in front of which is 
a screen of the most gorgeous and florid architecture, and 
executed in solid stone, separates the nave from the ser- 
vice choir. The beautiful workmanship of this makes it 
appear so perfect, as almost to produce the belief that it 
is tracery- work of wood. We ascended the rough stone 
steps through a winding stair to the turrets, where we 
had such a view of the surrounding country as can be 
obtained from no other place. On the top of the centre 
and highest turret is a grotesque figure of a fiddler; 
rather a strange-looking object, w^e thought, to occupy 


the most elevated pinnacle on the house of God. All 
dwellings in the neighborhood appear like so many 
dwarfs crouching at the feet of the minster ; while its own 
vastness and beauty impress the observer with feelings 
of awe and sublimity. As we stood upon the top of this 
stupendous mountain of ecclesiastical architecture, and 
surveyed the picturesque hills and valleys around, im- 
agination recalled the tumult of the sanguinary battles 
fought in sight of the edifice. The rebellion of Octavius 
near three thousand years ago, his defeat and flight to 
the Scots, his return and triumph over the Romans, and 
being crowned king of all Britain ; the assassination of 
Oswald, King of the Northumbrians ; the flaying alive 
of Osbert ; the crowning of Richard III.; the siege by 
William the Conqueror; the siege by Cromwell, and 
the pomp and splendor with which the different monarchs 
had been received in York, all appeared to be vividly 
before me. While we were thus calling to our aid our 
knowledge of history, a sweet peal from the lungs of the 
ponderous organ below cut short our stay among the tur- 
rets, and we descended to have our organ of tune grati- 
fied, as well as to finish the inspection of" the interior. 

I have heard the sublime melodies of Handel, Haydn 
and Mozart, performed by the most skilful musicians ; 
I have listened with delight and awe to the soul-moving 
compositions of those masters, as they have been chanted 
in the most magnificent churches; but never did I hear 
such music, and played upon such an instrument, as that 
sent forth by the great organ in the Cathedral of York. 


The verger took much delight in showing us the horn 
that was once mounted with gold, but is now garnished 
with brass. We viewed the monuments and tombs of 
the departed, and then spent an hour before the great 
north window. The design on the painted glass, which 
tradition states was given to the church by five virgin 
sisters, is the finest thing of the kind in Great Britain. 
I felt a relief on once more coming into the open air, and 
again beholding Nature's own sunlight. The splendid 
ruin of St. Mary's Abbey, with its eight beautiful 
light Gothic v/indows, next attracted our attention. A 
visit to the castle finished our stay in York ; and as we 
were leaving the old city we almost imagined that we 
heard the chiming of the bells for the celebration of the 
first Christian Sabbath, with Prince Arthur as the pre- 
siding genius. 

-^ 4k 4fc -iU -^ -4^ 

■TV -TT- -Tf 'ff' -Tf -TT 

England stands preeminently the first government in the 
world for freedom of speech and of the press. Not even 
in our own beloved America can the man who feels him- 
self oppressed speak as he can in Great Britain. In 
some parts of England, however, the freedom of thought 
is tolerated to a greater extent than in others ; and of 
the places favorable to reforms of all kinds, calculated to 
elevate and benefit mankind, Newcastle-on-Tyne doubt- 
less takes the lead. Surrounded by innumerable coal- 
mines, it furnishes employment for a large laboring 
population, many of whom take a deep interest in the 
passing events of the day, and, consequently, are a read- 


ing class. The public debater or speaker, no matter 
•what may be his subject, who fails to get an audience in 
other towns, is sure of a gathering in the Music Hall, 
or Lecture Room, in Newcastle. 

Here I first had an opportunity of coming in contact 
with a portion of the laboring people of Britain. I 
have addressed large and influential meetings in New- 
castle and the neighboring towns, and the more I see and 
learn of the condition of the working-classes of England, 
the more I am satisfied of the utter fallacy of the state- 
ments often made that their condition approximates to that 
of the slaves of America. Whatever may be the disad- 
vantages that the British peasant labors under, he is free ; 
and if he is not satisfied with his employer, he can make 
choice of another. He also has the right to educate 
his children ; and he is the equal of the most wealthy 
person before an English court of justice. But how is 
it with the American slave ? He has no right to him- 
self ; no right to protect his wife, his child, or his own 
person. He is nothing more than a living tool. Be- 
yond his field or workshop he know^s nothing. There is 
no amount of ignorance he is not capable of He has 
not the least idea of the face of this earth, nor of the 
history or constitution of the country in which he dwells. 
To him the literature, science and art, the progressive 
history and the accumulated discoveries of by-gone 
ages, are as if they had never been. The past is to him 
as yesterday, and the future scarcely more than to-mor- 
row. Ancestral monuments he has none ; written docu- 


ments, fraught with cogitations of other times, he has 
none ; and any instrumentality calculated to awaken and 
expound the intellectual activity and comprehension of a 
present or approaching generation, he has none. His 
condition is that of the leopard of his own native Africa. 
It lives, it propagates its kind ; but never does it indicate 
a movement towards that all but angelic intelligence of 
man. The slave eats, drinks and sleeps, all for the 
benefit of the man who claims his body as his property. 
Before the tribunals of his country he has no voice. He 
has no higher appeal than the mere will of his owner. 
He knows nothing of the inspired Apostles through their 
writings. He has no Sabbath, no church, no Bible, no 
means of grace, — and yet we are told that he is as well 
off as the laboring classes of England. It is not enough 
that the people of my country should point to their 
Declaration of Independence, which declares that ''all 
men are created equal." It is not enough that they 
should laud to the skies a constitution containing boasting 
declarations in favor of freedom. It is not enough that 
they should extol the genius of Washington, the patriotism 
of Henry, or the enthusiasm of Otis. The time has 
come w^hen nations are judged by the acts of the pres- 
ent, instead of the past. And so it must be with 
America. In no place in the United Kingdom has the 
American slave warmer friends than in Newcastle. 

^ ^ ^ ^ =i(< ^ , 

I am now in Shefiield, and have just returned from a 
visit to James Montgomery, the poet. In company with 


James Wall, Esq., I proceeded to the Mount, the resi- 
dence of Mr. Montgomery ; and our names being sent in, 
we were soon in the presence of the '^ Christian poet.'^ He 
held in his left hand the Eclectic Review for the month, 
and with the right gave me a hearty shake, and bade me 
^' Welcome to Old England." He was anything but like 
the portraits I had seen of him, and the man I had in 
my mind's eye. I had just been reading his ^'Pelican 
Island," and I eyed the poet with no little interest. He 
is under the middle size; his forehead high and well 
formed, the top of which was a little bald ; his hair of a 
yellowish color, his eyes rather small and deep-set, the 
nose long and slightly acquiline. his mouth rather small, 
and not at all pretty. He was dressed in black, and a 
large white cravat entirely hid his neck and chin ; his 
having been afflicted from childhood with salt-rheum 
was doubtless the cause of his chin being so completely 
buried in the neckcloth. Upon the whole, he looked 
more like one of our American Methodist parsons than 
any one I have seen in this country. He entered freely 
into conversation with us. He said he should be glad to 
attend my lecture that evening, but that he had long 
since quit going out at night. He mentioned having 
heard William Lloyd Garrison some years before, and 
with whom he was well pleased. He said it had long 
been a puzzle to him how Americans could hold slaves 
and still retain their membership in the churches. When 
we rose to leave, the old man took my hand between his 
two, and with tears in his eyes said, ^^ Go on your Chris- 


tian mission, and may the Lord protect and prosper yon ! 
Your enslaved countrymen have my sympathy, and shall 
have my prayers.'' Thus ended our visit to the bard of 
Sheffield. Long after I had quitted the presence of the 
poet, the following lines of his were ringing in my ears : 

** Wandeiei, "wlnilier dost thou roam? 
Weary wanderer, old and gray, 
Wherefore hast thou left thine home, 
In the sunset of thy day ? 
AVelcome, wanderer, as thou art, 
All my blessings to partake ; 
Yet thrice welcome to my heart. 
For thine injured people's sake. 
Wanderer, whither wouldst thou roam ? 
To what region far away ? 
Bend thy steps to find a home. 
In the twilight of thy day. 
Where a tyrant never trod. 
Where a slave was never known — 
But where Nature worships God 
In the wilderness alone." 

Mr. Montgomery seems to have thrown his entire soul 
into his meditations on the wrongs of Switzerland. The 
poem which we have just quoted is unquestionably one 
of his best productions, and contains more of the fire of 
enthusiasm than all his other works. We feel a rever- 
ence almost amounting to superstition for the poet who 
deals with nature. And w4io is more capable of under- 
standing the human heart than the poet ? Who has bet- 
ter known the human feelings than Shakspeare ; better 


painted than Milton the grandeur of virtue; better 
sighed than Byron over the subtle weaknesses of Hope ? 
Who ever had a sounder taste, a more exact intellect, 
than Dante ? or who has ever tuned his harp more in 
favor of freedom than our own Whittier 1 


" How changed, alas ! from that revered abode. 
Graced by proud majesty in ancient days, 
When monks recluse these sacred pavements trod, 
And taught the unlettered world its Maker's praise ! 

Keats. • 

In passing through Yorkshire, we could not resist the 
temptation it offered to pay a visit to the extensive and 
interesting ruin of Kirkstall Abbey, which lies embo- 
somed in a beautiful recess of Airedale, about three miles 
from Leeds. A pleasant drive over a smooth road 
brought us abruptly in sight of the Abbey. The tran- 
quil and pensive beauty of the desolate monastery, as it 
reposes in the lap of pastoral luxuriance, and amidst the 
touching associations of seven centuries, is almost beyond 
description, when viewed from where we first beheld it. 
After arriving at its base, we stood for some moments 
under the mighty arches that lead into the great hall, 
gazing at its old gray walls frowning with age. At the 
distance of a small field, the Aire is seen gliding past 
the foot of the lawn on which the ruin stands, after it 
has left those precincts, sparkling over a weir with a 


pleasing murmur. We could fully enter into the feel- 
ings of the poet when he says : 

** Beautiful fabric ! even in decay 

And desolation, beauty still is thine ; 
As the rich sunset of an autumn day, 

When gorgeous clouds in glorious hues combine 
To render homage to its slow decline. 

Is more majestic in its parting hour : 
Even so thy mouldering, venerable shrine 
Possesses now a more subduing power 
Than in thine earlier sway, with pomp and pride thy dower." 

The tale of ^-Mary, the Maid of the Inn," is sup- 
posed, and not without foundation, to be connected with 
this abbey. ''Hark to Eover," the name of the house 
where the key is kept, was, a century ago, a retired inn 
or pot-house, and the haunt of many a desperate high- 
wayman and poacher. The anecdote is so well known 
that it is scarcely necessary to relate it. It, however, is 
briefly this : 

'' One stormy night, as two travellers sat at the inn, 
each having exhausted his news, the conversation was 
directed to the abbey, the boisterous night, and Mary's 
heroism ; when a bet was at last made by one of them, 
that she would not go and bring back from the nave a 
slip of the alder-tree growing there. Mary, however, 
did go ; but, having nearly reached the tree, she heard a 
low, indistinct dialogue ; at the same time, something 
black fell and rolled towards her, which afterwards 
proved to be a hat. Directing her attention to the place 
whence the conversation proceeded, she saw, from behind 


a pillar, two men carrying a murdered body : they 
passed near tlie place where she stood, a heavy cloud was 
swept from off the face of the moon, and Mary fell sense- 
less — one of the murderers was her intended husband ! 
She was awakened from her swoon, but — her reason 
had fled forever." Mr. Southey wrote a beautiful 
poem founded on this story, which will be found in his 
published works. We spent nearly three hours in wan- 
dering through these splendid ruins. It is both curious 
and interesting to trace the early history of these old 
piles, which become the resort of thousands, nine tenths 
of whom are unaware either of the classic ground on 
which they tread, or of the peculiar interest throwi;i 
around the spot by the deeds of remote ages. 

During our stay in Leeds, we had the good fortune to 
become acquainted with Wilson Armistead, Esq. This 
gentleman is well known as an able writer against slave- 
ry. His most elaborate work is ^^A Tribute for the 
Negro." This is a volume of five hundred and sixty 
pages, and is replete with facts refuting the charges of 
inferiority brought against the negro race. Few Eng- 
lish gentlemen have done more to hasten the day of the 
slave's liberation than Wilson Armistead. 

A few days after, I paid a visit to Newstead Abbey, 
the far-famed residence of Lord Byron. I posted from 
Hucknall over to Newstead one pleasant morning, and, 
being provided with a letter of introduction to Colonel- 
Wild man, I lost no time in presenting myself at the door 
of the abbey. But, unfortunately for me, the colonel 


was at Mansfield, in attendance at the Assizes — he be- 
ing one of the county magistrates. I did not, however, 
lose the object of my visit, as every attention was paid 
in showing me about the premises. I felt as every one 
must who gazes for the first time upon these walls, and 
remembers that it was here, even amid the comparative 
ruins of a building once dedicated to the sacred cause of 
Religion and her twin sister, Charity, that the genius of 
Byron was first developed ; here that he paced with 
youthful melancholy the halls of his illustrious ancestors, 
and trode the walks of the long-banished monks. The 
housekeeper — a remarkably good-looking and polite 
woman — showed us through the different apartments, 
and explained in the most minute manner every object 
of interest connected with the interior of the building. 
We first visited the Monk's Parlor, which seemed to 
contain nothing of note, except a very fine-stained win- 
dow — one of the figures representing St. Paul, sur- 
mounted by a cross. We passed through Lord Byron's 
Bed-room, the Haunted Chamber, the Library and the 
Eastern Corridor, and halted in the Tapestry Bed-room, 
which is truly a magnificent apartment, formed by the 
Byrons for the use of King Charles 11. The ceiling is 
richly decorated with the Byron arms. We next visited 
the grand Drawing-room, probably the finest in the 
building. This saloon contains a large number of splen- 
did portraits, among v^hich is the celebrated portrait of 
Lord Byron, by Phillips. In this room we took into 


our hand the skull-cup, of which so much has been writ- 
ten, and that has on it : 

*' Start not — nor deem my spirit fled ; 
In me behold the only skull 
From which, unlike a living head. 
Whatever flows is never dull. 

'' I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee ; 
I died — let earth my bones resign : 
Fill up — thou canst not injure me ; 
The worm hath fouler lips than thine. 

" Better to hold the sparkling grape, 

Than nurse the earth-worm's slimy brood ; 
And circle in the goblet's shape 

The drink of gods, than reptile's food. 

** Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone. 
In aid of others let me shine ; 
And when, alas ! our brains are gone, 
Yf hat nobler substitute than wine ? 

" Quaff while thou canst — another race, 
When thou and thine like thee are sped, 
May rescue thee from earth's embrace, 
And rhyme and revel with the dead. 

" W^hy not? since through life's little day 
Our heads such sad efiects produce ; 
Redeemed from worms and wasting clay, 
This chance is theirs, to be of use." 

Leaving this noble room, we descended by a few pol- 
ished oak steps into the West Corridor, from which we 
entered the grand Dining Hall, and through several 
other rooms, until we reached the Chapel. Here wa 


were shown a stone coffin which had been found near the 
high altar, when the workmen were excavating the vault 
intended by Lord Byron for himself and his dog. The 
coffin contained the skeleton of an abbot, and also the 
identical skull from which the cup of which I have 
made mention was made. We then left the building, 
and took a stroll through the grounds. After passing a 
pond of cold crystal water, we came to a dark wood, in 
which are two leaden statues of Pan, and a female satyr 
— very fine specimens as works of art. We here in- 
spected the tree whereon Byron carved his own name 
and that of his sister, with the date, all of which are still 
legible. However, the tree is now dead, and we were 
informed that Colonel Wildman intended to have it cut 
down, so as to preserve the part containing the inscrip- 
tion. After crossing an interesting and picturesque part 
of the gardens, we arrived within the precincts of the 
ancient chapel, near which we observed a neat marble 
monument, and which we supposed to have been erected 
to the memory of some of the Byrons ; but, on drawing 
near to it, we read the following inscription : 

*' Near this spot are deposited the Remains of one who possessed Beauty without 
Vanity, Strength without Insolence, Courage without Ferocity, and all the Virtues 
of Man without his Vices. This Praise, which would be unmeaning Flattery if in- 
scribed over human ashes, is but a just tribute to the Memory of Boatswain, a 
Dog, who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803, and died at Newstead Abbey, 
1, 1808. 

'* When some proud son of man returns to earth, 
Unknown to glory,* but upheld by birth. 
The sculptured art exhausts the pomp of woe. 
And stoned urns record who rests below ; 


When all is done, upon the tomb is seen 

Not what he was, but what he should have been. 

But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, 

The first to welcome, foremost to defend, 

Whose honest heart is still his master's own. 

Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, 

Unhonorcd falls, unnoticed all his worth. 

Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth ; 

While man, vain insect ! hopes to be forgiven, 

And claims himself a sole, exclusive heaven. 

0, man ! thou feeble tenant of an hour. 

Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power. 

Who knows thee well must quit thee with disgust, 

Degraded mass of animated dust ; 

Thy love is lust, thy friendship all a cheat. 

Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy words deceit ! 

By nature vile, ennobled but by name. 

Each kindred brute might bid thee blush for shame. 

Ye, who perchance behold this simple urn. 

Pass on — it honors none you wish to mourn : 

To mark a friend's remains these stones arise ; 

I never knew but one, — and here he lies." 

By a will which his lordship executed in 1811, he 
directed that his own body should be buried in a vault in 
the garden, near his faithful dog. This feeling of affec- 
tion to his dumb and faithful follower, commendable in 
itself, seems here to have been carried beyond the bounds 
of reason and propriety. 

In another part of the grounds we saw the oak-tree 
planted by the poet himself. It has now attained a 
goodly size, considering the growth of the oak, and bids 
fair to become a lasting memento to the noble bard, and 
to be a shrine to which thousands of pilgrims will resort 


in future ages, to do homage to his mighty genius. This 
tree promises to share in after times the celebrity of 
Shakspeare's mulberry, and Pope's willow. Near by, and 
in the tall trees, the rooks were keeping up a tremendous 
noise. After seeing everything of interest connected 
with the great poet, we entered our chaise, and left the 
premises. As we were leaving, I turned to take a fare- 
well look at the abbey, standing in solemn grandeur, 
the long ivy clinging fondly to the rich tracery of a 
former age. Proceeding to the little town of Hucknall, 
we entered the old gray parish church, which has for 
ages been the last resting-place of the Byrons, and where 
repose the ashes of the poet, marked by a neat marble 
slabj bearing the following inscription : 

In the vault beneath, 
where many of his Ancestors and his Mother are 
lie the remains of 
George Gordon Noel Byron, 
Lord Byron, of Rochdale, 
in the County of Lancaster, 
the author of* Childe Harold's Pilgrimage." 
He was born in London, on the 
22nd of January, 1788. 
He died at Missolonghi, in Western Greece, on the 

19th of April, 1824, 

Engaged in the glorious attempt to restore that 

country to her ancient grandeur and renown. 

His Sister, the Honorable 
Augusta Maria Leigh, 
placed this Tablet to his Memory. 


From an Album that is kept for visitors to register 
their names in^ I copied the following lines^ composed by 
William Howitt, immediately after the interment : 

*' Rest in thy tomb, young lieir of glory, rest ! 
Rest in thy rustic tomb, wliich thou shalt make 
A spot of light upon thy country's breast, 
Known, honored, haunted ever for tliy sake. 
Thither romantic pilgrims shall betake 
Themselves from distant lands. When we are still 
In centuries of sleep, thy fame shall vrake. 
And thy great memory with deep feelings fill 
These scenes which thou hast trod, and hallow every hill.'' 

This closed my visit to the interesting scenes associated 
with Byron's strange and eventful history — scenes that' 
ever acquire a growing charm as the lapse of years softens 
the errors of the man, and confirms the genius of the 

The following lines, written by Byron in early life, 
were realized in his death in a foreign land : 

** When Time or soon or late shall bring 
The dreamless sleep that lulls the dead, 
Oblivion ! may thy languid limb 
Wave gently o'er my dying bed ! 

" No band of friends or heirs be there, 
To weep, or wish the coming blow : 
No maiden, with dishevelled hair, 
To feel, or feign, decorous woe. 

" But silent let me sink to Earth, 

With no officious mourners near ; 
I would not mar one hour of miith, 
Nor startle friendship with a tear." 


** Now, this once gorgeous edifice, if reared 
^ By piety, which sought with honest aim 

The glory of the Lord, should be revered 

Even for that cause, by those who seek the same. 
Perchance the builders erred ; but who shall blame 

Error, nor feel that they partake it too ? 
Then judge with charity, whate'er thy name, 

Be thou a Pagan, Protestant, or Jew ; 
Nor with a scornful glance these Papal reliques view." 


It was on a lovely morning that I found myself on 
board the little steamer Wye, passing out of Bristol 
harbor. In going down the river, we saw on our right 
the stupendous rocks of St. Vincent towering some four 
or five hundred feet above our heads. By the swiftness 
of our fairy steamer, we were soon abreast of Cook's 
Folly, a singular tower, built by a man from whom it 
takes its name, and of which the following romantic story 
is told : ^' Some years since a gentleman, of the name 
of Cook, erected this tower, which has since gone by the 
name of ' Cook's Folly.' A son having been born, he 
was desirous of ascertaining, by means of astrology, if he 
would live to enjoy his property. Being himself a firm 


believer, like the poet Dryden, that certain information 
might be obtained from the above science, he caused the 
child's horoscope to be drawn, and found, to his dismay, 
that in his third, sixteenth, or twenty-first year, he 
w^ould be in danger of meeting Avith some fearful calamity 
or sudden death, to avert which he caused the turret to 
be constructed, and the child placed therein. Secure, as 
he vainly thought, there he lived, attended by a faithful 
servant, their food and fuel being conveyed to them by 
means of a pulley-basket, until he was old enough to wait 
upon himself On the eve of his twenty-first year his 
parent's hopes rose high, and great were the rejoicings 
prepared to welcome the young heir to his home. But, 
alas ! no human skill could avert the dark fate which 
clung to him. The last night he had to pass alone in 
the turret, a bundle of fagots was conveyed to him as 
usual, in which lay concealed a viper, which clung to his 
hand. The bite was fatal ; and, instead of being borne 
in triumph, the dead body of his only son was the sad 
spectacle which met the sight of his father." 

We crossed the channel, and soon entered the mouth 
of that most picturesque of rivers, the Wye. As we 
neared the town of Chepstow the old castle made its ap- 
pearance, and a fine old ruin it is. Being previously 
provided with a letter of introduction to a gentleman in 
Chepstow, I lost no time in finding him out. This gen- 
tleman gave me a cordial reception, and did what Eng- 
lishmen seldom ever do, lefit me his saddle-horse to ride 
to the abbey. While lunch was in preparation I took a 


stroll through the castle which stood near by. We 
entered the castle through the great doorway, and were 
soon treading the walls that had once sustained the 
cannon and the sentinel, but were now covered with 
weeds and wild-flowers. The drum and fife had once 
been heard within these walls — the only music now is 
the cawing of the rook and daw. We paid a hasty visit 
to the various apartments, remaining longest in those of 
most interest. The room in which Martin the Regicide 
was imprisoned nearly twenty years was pointed out to 
to us. The Castle of Chepstow is still a magnificent 
pile, towering upon the brink of a stupendous cliff, on 
reaching the top of which, we had a splendid view of the 
surrounding country. Time, however, compelled us to 
retrace our steps, and, after partaking of a lunch, we 
mounted a horse for the first time in ten years, and 
started for Tintern Abbey. The distance from Chepstow 
to the abbey is about five miles, and the road lies along 
the banks of the river. The river is walled in on either 
side by hills of much beauty, clothed from base to summit 
with the richest verdure. I can conceive of nothing 
more striking than the first appearance of the abbey. 
As we rounded a hill, all at once we saw the old ruin 
standing before us in all its splendor. This celebrated 
ecclesiastical relic of the olden time is doubtless the finest 
ruin of its kind in Europe. Embosomed amongst hills, 
and situated on the banks of the most fairy-like river in 
the world, its beauty can scarcely be surpassed. We 
halted at the '^ Beaufort Arms," left our horse, and sal- 


lied forth to view the abbey. The sun was pouring a 
flood of light upon the old gray walls, lighting up its 
dark recesses, as if to give us a better opportunity of 
viewing it. I gazed with astonishment and admiration 
at its many beauties, and especially at the superb Gothic 
windows over the entrance-door. The beautiful Gothic 
pillars, with here and there a representation of a praying 
priest, and mailed knights, with saints and Christian 
martyrs, and the hundreds of Scriptural representations, 
all indicate that this was a place of considerable import- 
ance in its palmy days. The once stone floor had disap- 
peared, and we found ourselves standing on a floor of 
unbroken green grass, swelling back to the old walls, and 
looking so verdant and silken that it seemed the very 
floor of fancy. There are more romantic and w^ilder 
places than this in the world, but none more beautiful. 
The preservation of these old abbeys should claim the 
attention of those under whose charge they are, and we 
felt like joining with the poet, and saying — 

" ye who dwell 
Around yon ruins, guard the precious charge 
From hands profane ! save the sacred pile — 
O'er which the wing of centuries has flown 
Darkly and silently, deep-shadowing all 
Its pristine honors — from the ruthless grasp 
Of future violation ! " 

In contemplating these ruins more closely, the mind 
insensibly reverts to the period of feudal and regal op- 
pression, when structures like that of Tintern Abbey 


necessarily became the scenes of stirring and highly- 
important events. How altered is the scene ! Where 
were formerly magnificence and splendor, the glittering 
array of priestly prowess, the crowded halls of haughty 
bigots, and the prison of religious offenders, there is now 
but a heap of mouldering ruins. The oppressed and the 
oppressor have long since lain down together in the peace- 
ful grave. The ruin, generally speaking, is unusually 
perfect, and the sculpture still beautifully sharp. The 
outward walls are nearly entire, and are thickly clad 
with ivy. Many of the windows are also in a good state 
of preservation ; but the roof has long since fallen in. 
The feathered songsters were fluttering about, and pour- 
ing forth their artless lays as a tribute of joy ; while the 
lowing of the herds, the bleating of flocks, and the hum 
of bees upon the farm near by, all burst upon the ear, 
and gave the scene a picturesque sublimity that can be 
easier imagined than described. Most assuredly Shaks- 
peare had such ruins in view when he exclaimed, 

" The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
Yes, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
And, like the baseless fabric of a vision. 
Leave not a wreck behind." 

In the afternoon we returned to Bristol, and I spent 
the greater part of the next day in examining the inte- 
rior of Eedcliffe Church. Few places in the west of 
England have greater claims upon the topographer and 


historian than the church of St. Mary's, Redcliffe. Its 
antiquity, the beauty of its architecture, and, above all, 
the interesting circumstances connected with its history, 
entitle it to peculiar notice. It is also associated with the 
enterprise of genius ; for its name has been blended with 
the reputation of Rowley, of Canynge, and of Chatterton, 
and no lover of poetry and admirer of art can visit it 
without a degree of enthusiasm. And, w^hen the old 
building shall have mouldered into ruins, even these will 
be trodden with veneration, as sacred to the recollection 
of genius of the highest order. Ascending a winding 
stair, w^e were shown into the treasury room. The room 
forms an irregular octagon, admitting light through nar- 
row, unglazed apertures, upon the broken and scattered 
fragments of the famous Kowleian chests, that, wdth the 
rubble and dust of centuries, cover the floor. It is here 
creative fancy pictures forth the sad image of the spirit 
of the spot — the ardent boy, flushed and fed by hope, 
musing on the brilliant deception he had conceived, 
whose daring attempt has left his name unto the intel- 
lectual world as a marvel and a mystery. 

That a boy under tw^elve years of age should write a 
series of poems, imitating the style of the fifteenth cen- 
tury, and palm these poems off upon the world as the 
work of a monk, is indeed strange; and that these 
should become the. object of interesting contemplation 
to the literary world, and should awaken inquiries, 
and exercise the talents of a Southey, a Bryant, a 
Miller, a Mathias, and others, savors more of romance 


than reality. I had visited the room in a garret in 
High Holborn where this poor boy died ; I had stood 
over a grave in the burial-ground of Shoe-Lane Work- 
house, which was pointed out to me as the last rest- 
ing-place of Chatterton ; and now I was in the room 
where, it was alleged, he obtained the manuscripts that 
gave him such notoriety. We descended and viewed 
other portions of the church. The effect of the chancel, 
as seen behind the pictures, is very singular, and sug- 
gestive of many swelling thoughts. We look at the 
great east window — it is unadorned with its wonted 
painted glass ; we look at the altar-screen beneath, on 
which the light of day again falls, and behold the injuries 
it has received at the hands of time. There is a dreary 
mournfulness in the scene which fastens on the mind, 
and is in unison with the time-worn mouldering frag- 
ments that are seen all around us. And this dreariness 
is not removed by our tracing the destiny of man on the 
storied pavements or on the graven brass, that still bears 
upon its surface the names of those who obtained the 
world's regard years back. This old pile is not only an 
ornament to the city, but it stands a living monument to 
the genius of its founder. Bristol has long sustained a 
high position, as a place from which the American abo- 
litionists have received substantial encouragement in 
their arduous labors for the emancipation of the slaves 
of that land ; and the writer of this received the best 
evidence that in this respect the character of the people 
had not been exaggerated, especially as regards the 


^^ Clifton LadiesV An ti- Slavery Society." From Bristol 
I paid a hasty visit to the Scotch capital. 

Edinburgh is the most picturesque of all the towns 
which I have visited since my arrival in the father-land. 
Its situation has been compared to that of Athens ; but it 
is said that the modern Athens is superior to the ancient. 
I was deeply impressed with the idea that I had seen the 
most beautiful of cities, after beholding those fashionable 
resorts, Paris and Versailles. I have seen nothing in 
the way of public grounds to compare with the gardens 
of Versailles, or the Champs Elysees, at Paris ; and as 
for statuary, the latter place is said to take the lead of 
the rest of the world. 

The general appearance of Edinburgh prepossesses one 
in its favor. The town, being built upon*the brows of a 
large terrace, presents the most wonderful perspective. 
Its first appearance to a stranger, and the first impres- 
sion, can scarcely be but favorable. In my first walk 
through the town I was struck with the difierence in the 
appearance of the people from the English. But the dif- 
ference between the Scotch and the Americans is very 
great. The cheerfulness depicted in the countenances of 
the people here, and their free-and-easy appearance, is 
very striking to a stranger. He who taught the sun to 
shine, the flowers to bloom, the birds to sing, and blesses 
ns with rain, never intended that his creatures should 
look sad. There is a wide difference between the Amer- 
icans and any other people which I have seen. The 


Scotch are healthy and robust, unlike the long-faced, 
sickly-looking Americans. 

While on our journey from London to Paris, to attend 
the Peace Congress, I could not but observe the marked 
difference between the English and American delegates. 
The former looked as if their pockets had been filled 
with sandwiches, made of good bread and roast beef ; 
while the latter appeared as if their pockets had been 
filled with Hollo way's pills and Mrs. Kidder's cordial. 

I breakfasted this morning in a room in which the poet 
Burns, as I was informed, had often sat. The conversa- 
tion here turned upon Burns. - The lady of the house 
pointed to a scrap of poetry which was in a frame hang- 
ing on the wall, written, as she said, by the poet, on 
hearing the people rejoicing in a church over the intelli- 
gence of a victory. I copied it, and will give it to you : 

" Ye liypocrites ! are these your pranks. 
To murder men and give God thanks ? 
For shame ! give o'er, proceed no farther ; 
God won't accept your thanks for murder." 

The fact that I was in the room where Scotland's great 
national poet had been a visitor caused me to feel that I 
was on classic, if not hallowed ground. On returning 
from our morning visit, we met a gentleman with a col- 
ored lady on each arm. remarked, in a very dry 

manner, ''If they were in Georgia, the slaveholders 
would make them walk in a more hurried gait than they 
do." I said to my friend that, if he meant the pro- 


slavery prejudice would not suffer them to walk peace- 
ably through the streets, they need go no further than 
the pro-slavery cities of New York and Philadelphia. 
When walking through the streets, I amused myself by 
*watching C— — 's countenance ; and, in doing so, imagined 
I saw the changes experienced by every fugitive slave in 
his first month's residence in this country. A sixteen 
months' residence has not yet familiarized me with the 


'^1$ ^ ^ :^f ■^ -^ 

I remained in Edinburgh a day or two, which gave me 
an opportunity of seeing some of the lions in the way of 

public buildings, &c., in company with our friend C . 

I paid a visit to the Royal Institute, and inspected the 
very fine collection of paintings, statues, and other pro- 
ductions of art. The collection in the Institute is not to 
be compared to the British Museum at London, or the 
Louvre at Paris, but is probably the best in Scotland. 
Paintings from the hands of many of the masters, such 
as Sir A. Vandyke, Tiziano, Vercellio and Van Dellen, 
were hanging on the wall, and even the names of Ru- 
bens and Titian were attached to some of the finer speci- 
mens. Many of these represent some of the nobles and 
distinguished families of Rome, Athens, Greece, &c. A 
beautiful one, representing a group of the Lomellini 
family of Genoa, seemed to attract the attention of most 
of the visitors. 

In visiting this place, we passed close by the monu- 
ment of Sir Walter Scott. This is the most exquisite 


thing of the kind that I have seen since coming to this 
country. It is said to be the finest monument in Europe. 
There sits the author of '' Waverley," with a book and 
pencil in hand, taking notes. A beautiful dog is seated 
by his side. Whether this is meant to represent his 
favorite dog, Camp, at whose death the poet shed so 
many tears, we were not informed ; but I was of opinion 
that it might be the faithful Percy, whose monument 
stands in the grounds at Abbotsford. Scott was an ad- 
mirer of the canine tribe. One may form a good idea 
of the appearance of this distinguished writer when liv- 
ing, by viewing this remarkable statue. The statue is 
very beautiful, but not equal to the one of Lord Byron, 
which was executed to be placed by the side of Johnson, 
Milton and Addison, in Poets' Corner, Westminster 
Abbey ; but the vestry not allowing it a place there, it 
now stands in one of the colleges at Cambridge. While 
viewing the statue of Byron, I thought he, too, should 
have been represented with a dog by his side ; for he, like 
Scott, was remarkably fond of dogs ; so much so that he 
intended to have his favorite. Boatswain, interred by his 

We paid a short visit to the monuments of Burns and 
Allan Bamsay, and the renow^ned old Edinburgh Castle. 
The castle is now used as a barrack for infantry. It is 
accessible only from the High Street, and must have been 
impregnable before the discovery of gunpowder. In the 
wars with the English, it was twice taken by stratagem ; 
once in a very daring manner, by climbing up the most 


inaccessible part of the rock upon which it stands, and 
where a foe was least expected, and putting the guard to 
death ; and at another time, by a party of soldiers dis- 
guising themselves as merchants, and obtaining admis- 
sion inside the castle gates. They succeeded in prevent- 
ing the gates from being closed until reinforced by a 
party of men under Sir Wm. Douglas, who soon over- 
powered the occupants of the castle. 

We could not resist the temptation held out to see the 
palace of Holyrood. It was in this place that the beau- 
tiful but unfortunate Mary Queen of Scots resided for 
a number of years. On reaching the palace, we were 
met at the door by an elderly-looking woman, wdth a red 
face, garnished with a pair of second-hand curls, the 
whole covered with a cap having the widest border that I 
had seen for years. She was very kind in showing us 
about the premises, especially as we were foreigners, no 
doubt expecting an extra fee for politeness. The most 
interesting of the many rooms in this ancient castle is 
the one which was occupied by the queen, and where her 
Italian favorite, Rizzio, was murdered. 

But by far the most interesting object which we 
visited while in Edinburgh was tne house where the cele- 
brated Reformer, John Knox, resided. It is a queer-looking 
old building, with a pulpit on the outside, and above the 
door are the nearly obliterated remains of the follow- 
ing inscription: '^ Lufe. God. Above. Al. And. your. 
Nichbour. As you. Self" This was probably traced 
under the immediate direction of the great Reformer. 


Such an inscription put upon a house of worship at the 
present day would be laughed at. I have given it to 
you, punctuation and all, just as it stands. 

The general architecture of Edinburgh is very impos- 
ing, whether we regard the picturesque disorder of the 
buildings in the Old Town, or the symmetrical propor- 
tions of the streets and squares in the New. But on 
viewing this city, which has the reputation of being the 
finest in Europe, I was surprised to find that it had none 
of those sumptuous structures which, like St. Paul's, 
or Westminster Abbey, York Minster, and some other 
of the English provincial cathedrals, astonish the behold- 
er alike by their magnitude and their architectural 
splendor. But in no city which I have visited in the 
kingdom is the general standard of excellence better 
maintained than in Edinburgh. 


" I was a traveller then upon the moor ; 
I saw the hare that raced about with joy ; 
I heard the woods and distant waters roar, 
Or heard them not, as happy as a boy." 


I AM glad once more to breathe an atmosphere uncon- 
taminated by the fumes and smoke of a city with its 
population of three hundred thousand inhabitants. In 

company with my friend C ^, I left Glasgow on the 

afternoon of the 23d inst., for Dundee, a beautiful town 
situated on the banks of the river Tay. One like my- 
self, who has spent the best part of an eventful life in 
cities, and who prefers, as I do, a country to a town life, 
feels a greater degree of freedom when surrounded by 
forest trees, or country dwellings, and looking upon a 
clear sky, than when walking through the thronged 
thoroughfares of a city, with its dense population, meet- 
ing every moment a new or strange face, which one has 
never seen before, and never expects to see again. 

Although I had met with one of the warmest public 
receptions with which I have been greeted since my ar* 
rival in the country, and had had an opportunity of shak- 


ing hands with many noble friends of the slave, whose 
names I had often seen in print, yet I felt glad to see 
the tall chimneys and smoke of Glasgow receding in the 
distance, as our ''iron-horse" was taking us with almost 
lightning speed from the commercial capital of Scotland. 

The distance from Glasgow to Dundee is some seventy 
or eighty miles, and we passed through the finest coun- 
try which I have seen in this portion of the queen's 
dominions. We passed through the old town of Stirling, 
which lies about thirty miles distant from Glasgow, and 
is a place much frequented by those who travel for pleas- 
ure. It is built on the brow^ of a hill, and the^ castle 
from which it most probably derived its name may be 
seen from a distance. Had it not been for a '' profes- 
sional " engagement the same evening at Dundee, I 
would most assuredly have halted to take a look at the 
old building. 

The castle is situated or built on an isolated rock, 
which seems as if nature had thrown it there for that 
purpose. It was once the retreat of the Scottish kings, 
and famous for its historical associations. Here the 
'' Lady of the Lake," with the magic ring, sought the 
monarch to intercede for her father ; here James II. 
murdered the Earl of Douglas ; here the beautiful but 
unfortunate Mary was made queen ; and here John 
Knox, the Reformer, preached the coronettion sermon of 
James VI. The Castle Hill rises from the valley of the 
Forth, and makes an imposing and picturesque appear- 
ance. The windings of the noble river, till lost in the 


distance, present pleasing contrasts, scarcely to be sur- 

The speed of our train, after passing Stirling, brought 
before us, in quick succession, a number of fine villas 
and farm-houses. Every spot seemed to have been 
arrayed by nature for the reception of the cottage of 
some happy family. During this ride we passed many 
sites where the lawns were made, the terraces defined 
and levelled, the groves tastefully clumped, the ancient 
trees, though small when compared to our great forest 
oaks, were beautifully sprinkled here and there, and in 
everything the labor of art seemed to have been antici- 
pated by nature. Cincinnatus could not have selected 
a prettier situation for a farm than some which pre- 
sented themselves during this delightful journey. At 
last we arrived at the place of our destination, where 
our friends were in waiting for us. 

As I have already forwarded to you a paper contain- 
ing an account of the Dundee meeting, I shall leave you 
to judge from these reports the character of the demon- 
stration. Yet I must mention a fact or two connected 
with our first evening's visit to this town. A few hours 
after our arrival in the place, we were called upon by a 
gentleman whose name is known wherever the English 
language is spoken — one whose name is on the tongue 
of every student and school-boy in this country and 
America, and what lives upon their lips will live and be 
loved forever. 

We were seated over a cup of strong teaj to revive our 


spirits for the evening, when our friend entered the room, 
accompanied by a gentleman, small in stature, and appa- 
rently seventy-five years of age, yet he appeared as 
active as one half that age. Feeling half drowsy from 
riding in the cold, and then the sudden change to a 
warm fire, I was rather inclined not to move on the en- 
trance of the stranger. But the name of Thomas Dick, 
LL.D., roused me in a moment from my lethargy; I 
could scarcely believe that I was in the presence of the 
^^ Christian Philosopher." Dr. Dick is one of the men 
to whom the age is indebted. I never find myself in the 
presence of one to whom the world owes so much, with- 
out feeling a thrilling emotion, as if I were in the land 
of spirits. Dr. Dick had come to our lodgings to see 
and congratulate William and Ellen Craft upon their 
escape from the republican Christians of the United 
States ; and as he pressed the hand of the ^^ white slave," 
and bid her ^^ welcome to British soil," I saw the silent 
tear stealing down the cheek of this man of genius. 
How I wished that the many slaveholders and pro- 
slavery professed Christians of America, who have read 
and pondered the philosophy of this man, could have 
been present! Thomas Dick is an abolitionist — one 
who is willing that* the world should know that he hates 
the ^^ peculiar institution." At the meeting that even- 
ing, Dr. Dick was among the most prominent. But 
this was not the only distinguished man who took part 
on that occasion. 

Another great mind was on the platform, and entered 


his solemn protest in a manner long to be remembered 
by those present. This was the Rev. George GilfiUan, 
well known as the author of the ' ' Portraits of Literary 
Men." Mr. GilfiUan is an energetic speaker, and would 
have been the lion of the evening, even if many others 
who are more distinguished as platform orators had been 
present. I think it was Napoleon who said that the 
enthusiasm of others abated his own. At any rate, the 
spirit with which each speaker entered upon his duty for 
the evening abated my own enthusiasm for the time 
being. The last day of our stay in Dundee, I paid a 
visit, by invitation^ to Dr. Dick, at his residence in the 
little village of Broughty Ferry. We found the great 
astronomer in his parlor waiting for us. From the par- 
lor we went to the new study, and here I felt more at 
ease, for I went to see the philosopher in his study, and 
not in his drawing-room. But even this room had too 
much the look of nicety to be an author's sanctum ; 
and I inquired and was soon informed by Mrs. Dick, 
that I should have a look at the ^' old study.'' ^ 

During a sojourn of eighteen months in Great Britain, 
I have had the good fortune to meet with several distin- 
guished literary characters, and have always managed, 
while at their places of abode, to see the table and favor- 
ite chair. William and Ellen Craft were seeing what 
they could see through a microscope, when Mrs. Dick 
returned to the room, and intimated that we could now 
see the old literary workshop. I followed, and was soon 
in a room about fifteen feet square, with but one window. 


which occupied one side of the room. The walls of the 
other three sides were lined with books, and many of 
these looked the very personification of age. I took my 
seat in the ^* old arm-chair ;^^ and here, thought I, is 
the place and the seat in which this distinguished man 
sat while weaving the radiant wreath of renown which 
now, in his old age, surrounds him, and whose labors 
will be more appreciated by future ages than the present. 
I took a farewell of the author of the ^^ Solar Sys- 
tem," but not until I had taken a look through the great 
telescope in the observatory. This instrument, through 
which I tried to see the heavens, was not the one in- 
vented by Galileo, but an improvement upon the orig- 
inal. On leaving this learned man, he shook hands with 
us, and bade us '^ God speed'' in our mission; and I left 
the philosopher, feeling I had not passed an hour more 
agreeably with a literary character since the hour 
which I spent with the poet Montgomery a few months 
since. And, by-the-by, there is a resemblance between 
the poet and the philosopher. In becoming acquainted 
with great men I have become a convert to the opinion 
that a big nose is an almost necessary appendage to the 
form of a man with a giant intellect. If those whom I 
have seen be a criterion, such is certainly the case. But 
I have spun out this too long, and must close. 


*' Proud relic of the miglity dead ! 
Be mine with shuddering awe to tread 

Thy roofless weedy hall, 
And mark, with fancy's kindling eye. 
The steel-clad ages, gliding by, 
Thy feudal pomp recall." 


I CLOSED my last in the ancient town of Melrose, on 
the banks of the Tweed, and within a stone's throw of 
the celebrated ruins from which the town derives its 
name. The valley in which Melrose is situated, and the 
surrounding hills, together with the monastery, have so 
often been made a theme for the Scottish bards, that this 
has become the most interesting part of Scotland. Of 
the many gifted writers who have taken up the pen, 
none have done more to bring the Eildon Hills and Mel- 
rose Abbey into note than the author of '^ Waver ley." 
But who can read his writings without a regret that he 
should have so woven fact and fiction together that it is 
almost impossible to discriminate between the one and 
the other ? 

We arrived at Melrose in the evening, and proceeded 


to the chapel where our meeting was to be held, and 
where our friends, the Crafts, were warmly greeted. On 
returning from the meeting we passed close by the ruins 
of Melrose, and, very fortunately, it was a moonlight 
night. There is considerable difference of opinion among 
the inhabitants of the place as regards the best time to 
view the abbey. The author of the ^^Lay of the Last 
Minstrel '' says : 

' ' If tliou wouldst view fair Melrose aright, 
Go visit it by the pale moonlight : 
For the gay beams of lightsome day 
Gild but to flout the ruins gray." 

In consequence of this admonition, I was informed 
that many persons remain in town to see the ruins by 
moonlight. Aware that the moon did not send its rays 
upon the old building every night in the year, I asked the 
keeper what he did on dark nights. He replied that he 
had a large lantern, which he put upon the end of a long 
pole, and with this he succeeded in lighting up the ruins. 
This good man labored hard to convince me that his 
invention was nearly, if not quite as good, as nature's 
own moon. But having no need of an application of his 
invention to the abbey, I had no opportunity of judging 
of its effect. I thought, however, that he had made a 
moon to some purpose, when he informed me that some 
nights, with his pole and lantern, he earned his four or 
five shillings. Not being content with a view by ^' moon- 
light alone/' I was up the next morning before the sun, 


and paid my respects to the abbey. I was too early for 
the keeper, and he handed me the key through the win- 
dow, and I entered the ruins alone. It is one labyrinth 
of gigantic arches and dilapidated halls, the ivy growing 
and clinging wherever it can fasten its roots, and the 
whole as fine a picture of decay as imagination could 
create. This was the favorite resort of Sir Walter Scott, 
and furnished him much matter for the ^'Layof the 
Last Minstrel." He could not have selected a more fit- 
ting place for solitary thought than this ancient abode 
of monks and priests. In passing through the cloisters 
I could not but remark the carvings of leaves and 
flowers, wrought in stone in the most exquisite mannerj 
looking as fresh as if they were just from the hands of 
the artist. The lapse of centuries seems not to have 
made any impression upon them, or changed their appear- 
ance in the least. I sat down among the ruins of the 
abbey. The ground about was piled up with magnifi- 
cent fragments of stone, representing various texts of 
Scripture, and the quaint ideas of the priests and monks 
of that age. Scene after scene swept through my fancy 
as I looked upon the surrounding objects. I could 
almost imagine I saw the bearded monks going from hall 
to hall, and from cell to cell. In visiting these dark 
cells, the mind becomes oppressed by a sense of the 
utter helplessness of the victims who once passed over 
the thresholds and entered these religious prisons. There 
was no help or hope but in the will that ordered their 
fate. How painful it is to gaze upon these walls, and to 


think how many tears were shed by their inmates, 
"when this old monastery lyas in its glory ! I ascended 
to the top of the ruin by a circuitous stairway, v/hose 
stone steps were worn deep from use by many who, like 
myself, had visited them to gratify a curiosity. From 
the top of the abbey I had a splendid view of the sur- 
rounding hills and the beautiful valley through which 
flow the Gala Water and Tweed. This is unquestion- 
ably the most splendid specimen of Gothic architectural 
I'uin in Scotland. But any description of mine conveys 
but a poor idea to the fancy. To be realized, it must be 

During the day, we paid a visit to Abbotsford, the 
splendid mansion of the late Sir Walter Scott, Bart. 
This beautiful seat is situated on the banks of the Tweed, 
just below its junction with the Gala Water. It is a 
dreary -looking spot, and the house from the opposite side 
of the river has the appearance of a small, low castle. 
In a single day's ride through England one may see 
half a dozen cottages larger than Abbotsford house. I 
was much disappointed in finding the premises under- 
going repairs and alterations, and that all the trees be- 
tween the house and the river had been, cut down. This 
is to be regretted the more, because they were planted, 
nearly every one of them, by the same hand that waved 
its wand of enchantment over the world. The fountain 
had been removed from where it had been placed by the 
hands of the poet to the centre of the yard ; and even a 
small stone that had been placed over the favorite dog 


^^ Percy " had been taken np and thrown among some 
loose stones. One visits Abbotsford because of the genius 
of the man that once presided over it. Everything con- 
nected with the great poet is of interest to his admirers, 
and anything altered or removed tends to diminish that 
interest. We entered the house, and were conducted 
through the great hall, which is hung all round with 
massive armor of all descriptions, and other memorials 
of ancient times. The floor is of white and black marble. 
In passing through the hall, we entered a narrow arched 
room, stretching quite across the building, having a win- 
dow at each end. This little or rather narrow room is 
filled with all kinds of armor, which is arranged with 
great taste. We were next shown into the dining-room, 
vfhose roof is of black oak, richly carved. In this room 
is a painting of the head of Queen Mary, in a charger, 
taken the day after the execution. Many other interest- 
ing portraits grace the walls of this room. But by far 
the finest apartment in the building is the drawing-room, 
with a lofty ceiling, and furnished with antique ebony 
furniture. After passing through the library, with its 
twenty thousand volumes, we found ourselves in the 
study, and I sat down in the same chair where once sat 
the poet : while before me was the table upon which 
were wTitten the " Lady of the Lake," ^' Waverley," 
and other productions of this gifted writer. The clothes 
last worn by the poet were shown to us. There was the 
broad-skirted blue coat, with its large buttons, the plaid 
trousers, the heavy shoes, the black vest and white hat. 


These were all in a glass case, and all looked the poet 
and novelist. But the inside of the buildings had under- 
gone alterations, as well as the outside. In passing 
through the library, we saw a granddaughter of the poet. 
She was from London, and was only on a visit of a few 
days. She looked pale and dejected, and seemed as if 
she longed to leave this secluded spot and return to the 
metropolis. She looked for all the world like a hot-house 
plant. I don't think the Scotch could do better than to 
purchase Abbotsford, while it has some imprint of the 
great magician, and secure its preservation ; for I am sure 
that, a hundred years hence, no place will be more fre- 
quently visited in Scotland than the home of the late 
Sir Walter Scott. After sauntering three hours about 
the premises, I left, but not without feeling that I had 
been well paid for my trouble in visiting Abbotsford. 

In the afternoon of the same day, in company with 
the Crafts, I took a drive to Dryburgh Abbey. It is a 
ruin of little interest, except as being the burial-place of 
Scott. The poet lies buried in St. Mary's Aisle. His 
grave is in the left transept of the cross, and close to 
where the high altar formerly stood. Sir Walter Scott 
chose his own grave, and he could not have selected a 
sunnier spot if he had roamed the wide world over. A 
shaded window breaks the sun as it falls upon his grave. 
The ivy is creeping and clinging wherever it can, as if it 
would shelter the poet's grave from the weather. The 
author lies between his wife and eldest son, and there is 
only room enough for one grave more, and the son's wife 
has the choice of being buried here. 


The four o'clock train took us to Hawick ; and after 
a pleasant visit in this place, and the people registering 
their names against American slavery, and the Fugitive 
Bill in particular, we set out for Carlisle, passing through 
the antique town of Langholm. After leaving the lat- 
ter place, we had to travel by coach. But no matter 
hoYf one travels here, he travels at a more rapid rate 
than in America. The distance from Langholm to Car- 
lisle, twenty miles, occupied only tw^o and a half hours 
in the journey. It was a cold day, and I had to ride on 
the outside, as the inside had been taken up. We changed 
horses and took in and put out passengers with a rapidity 
which seems almost incredible. The road was as smooth 
as could be imagined. 

We bid farewell to Scotland, as we reached the little 
town of Gretna Green. This town, being on the line 
between England and Scotland, is noted as the place 
where a little cross-eyed, red-faced blacksmith, by the 
name of Priestly, first set up his own altar to Hymen, 
and married all who came to him, without regard to rank 
or station, and at prices to suit all. It was worth a ride 
through this part of the country, if for no other purpose 
than to see the town where more clandestine marriages 
have taken place than in any other part of the w^orld. 
A ride of eight or nine miles brought us in sight of the 
Eden, winding its way slowly through a beautiful val- 
ley, with farms on either side, covered with sheep and 
cattle. Four very tall chimneys, sending forth dense 
columns of black smoke, announced to us that we were 


near Carlisle. I was really glad of this, for Ulysses 
was never more tired of the shores of Ilion than I of the 
top of that coach. 

We remained over night at Carlisle, partaking of the 
hospitality of the prince of bakers, and left the next 
day for the lakes, where we had a standing invitation to 
pay a visit to a distinguished literary lady. A cold ride 
of about fifty miles brought us to the foot of Lake Win- 
dermere, a beautiful 'sheet of water, surrounded by moun- 
tains that seemed to vie with each other which should 
approach nearest the sky. The margin of the lake is 
carved out and built up into terrace above terrace, until 
the slopes and windings are lost in the snow-capped peaks 
of the mountains. It is not surprising that such men as 
Southey, Coleridge, Wordsworth, and others, resorted to 
this region for inspiration. After a coach ride of five 
miles (passing on our journey the ^' Dove's Nest,' home 
of the late Mrs. Hemans), we were put down at the 
door of the Salutation Hotel, Ambleside, and a few 
minutes after found ourselves under the roof of the 
authoress of ^'Society in America." I know not how 
it is with others, but, for my own part, I always form an 
opinion of the appearance of an author whose writings I 
am at all familiar with, or a statesman whose speeches I 
have read. I had pictured in my own mind a tall, stately- 
looking lady of about sixty years, as the authoress of 
^^ Travels in the East ; " and for once I was right, with 
the single exception that I had added on too many years 
by twelve. The evening was spent in talking about the 


United States ; and William Craft had to go through the 

narrative of his escape from slavery. When I retired 

for the night, I found it almost impossible to sleep. The 

idea that I was under the roof of the authoress of ^^ The 

Hour and the Man/' and that I was on the banks of the 

sweetest lake in Great Britain, within half a mile of the 

residence of the late poet Wordsworth, drove sleep from 

my pillow. But I must leave an account of my visit to 

the Lakes for a future chapter. 

When I look around and see the happiness here, even 

among the poorer classes, and that too in a country where 

the soil is not at all to be compared with our own, 

I mourn for our down-trodden countrymen, who are 

plundered, oppressed and made chattels of, to enable an 

ostentatious aristocracy to vie with each other in splendid 




• « Why weeps the Muse for England ? What appears 
In England's case to move the Muse to tears? 
From side to side of her delightful isle 
Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile ? 
Can nature add a charm, or art confer 
A new-found luxury, not seen in her V* 


My last left me under the hospitable roof of Harriet 
Martineau. I had long had an invitation to visit this 
distinguished friend of our race, and as the^jp^vitation 
was renewed during my tour through the north, I did 
not feel disposed to decline it, and thereby lose so favor- 
able an opportunity of meeting with one who had writ- 
ten so much in behalf of the oppressed of our land. 
About a mile from the head of Lake Windermere, and 
immediately under Wonsfell, and encircled by mountains 
on all sides except the south-west, lies the picturesque 
little town of Ambleside ; and the brightest spot in the 
place is " The Knoll,'' the residence of Miss Martineau. 

We reached ''The Knoll" a little after night-fall, 
and a cordial shake of the hand by Miss M., who was 
waiting for us, trumpet in hand, soon assured us that we 
had met with a warm friend. 

-^ I 


It IS not my intention to lay open the scenes of domes- 
tic life at " The Knoll," nor to describe the social parties 
of which my friends and I were partakers during our 
sojourn within the hospitable walls of this distinguished 
writer ; but the name of Miss M. is so intimately connect- 
ed with the Anti-slavery movement by her early writ- 
ings, and those have been so much admired by the friends 
of the slave in the United States, that I deem it not at 
all out of place for me to give my readers some idea of 
the authoress of '^ Political Economy," ^'Travels in the 
East," " The Hour and the Man," &c. 

The dwelling is a cottage of moderate size, built after 
Miss M.'s own plan, upon a rise of land, from which it 
derives the name of ^^ The Knoll." The library is the 
largest room in the building, and upon the walls of it 
were hung some beautiful engravings and a continental 
map. On a long table, which occupied the centre of the 
room, were the busts of Shakspeare, Newton, Milton, and 
a few other literary characters of the past. One side of 
the room was taken up with a large case, filled with a 
choice collection of books ; and everything indicated that 
it was the home of genius and of taste. 

The room usually occupied by Miss M., and where we 
found her on the evening of our arrival, is rather small, 
and lighted by two large windows. The walls of this 
room were also decorated with prints and pictures, and 
on the mantel-shelf were some models in terra cotta of 
Italian groups. On a circular table lay casts, medal- 
lions, and some very choice water-color drawings. Under 


the south window stood a small table covered with newly- 
opened letters, a portfolio, and several new books, with 
here and there a page turned down, and one with a paper- 
knife between its leaves, as if it had only been half read. 
I took up the last-mentioned, and it proved to be the 
^' Life and Poetry of Hartley Coleridge," son of S. T. 
Coleridge. It was just from the press, and had, a day 
or two before, been forwarded to her by the publisher. 
Miss M. is very deaf, and always carries in her left hand 
a trumpet ; and I was not a little surprised on learning 
from her that she had never enjoyed the sense of smell, 
and only on one occasion the sense of taste, and that for 
a single moment. Miss M. is loved with a sort of idol- 
atry by the people of Ambleside, and especially the poor, 
to whom she gives a course of lectures every winter gra- 
tuitously. She finished her last course th^^^ij^ before 
our arrival. She was much pleased with Ellen^ Craft, 
and appeared delighted with the story of herself and hus- 
band's escape from slavery, as related by the latter, dur- 
ing the recital of which I several times saw the silent 
tear stealing down her cheek, and which she tried in vain 
to hide from us. 

When Craft had finished, she exclaimed, ^^I would 
that every woman in the British empire could hear that 
tale as I have, so that they might know how their own 
sex was treated in that boasted land of liberty.'' It 
seems strange to the people of this country, that one so 
white and so ladylike as Mrs. Craft should have been a 


slave, and forced to leave the land of her nativity and 
seek an asylum in a foreign country. 

The morning after our arrival I took a stroll by a cir- 
cuitous pathway to the top of Loughrigg Fell. At the 
foot of the mount I met a peasant, who very kindly 
offered to lend me his donkey, upon which to ascend the 
mountain. Never having been upon the back of one of 
these long-eared animals, I felt some hesitation about 
trusting myself upon so diminutive looking a creature. 
But, being assured that if I would only resign myself to 
his care, and let him have his own way, I would be per- 
fectly safe, I mounted, and off we set. "We had, how- 
ever, scarcely gone fifty rods, when, in passing over a 
narrow part of the path and overlooking a deep chasm, one 
of the hind feet of the donkey slipped, and with an invol- 
untary shudder I shut my eyes to meet my expected 
doom; bpt, fortunately, the little fellow gained his foot- 
hold, and in all probability saved us both from a prema- 
ture death. After we had passed over this dangerous 
place I dismounted ; and, as soon as my feet had once 
more gained terra firma, I resolved that I would never 
again yield my own judgment to that of any one, not 
even to a donkey. 

It seems as if nature had amused herself in throwing 
these mountains together. From the top of Loughrigg 
Fell the eye loses its power in gazing upon the objects 
below. On our left lay Eydal Mount, the beautiful seat 
of the late poet Wordsworth ; while to the right, and 
away in the dim distance, almost hidden by the native 


trees, was the cottage where once resided Mrs. Hemans. 
And below us lay Windermere, looking more like a river 
than a lake, and which, if placed bj the side of our own 
Ontario, Erie or Huron, would be lost in the fog. But 
here it looks beautiful in the extreme, surrounded as it is 
by a range of mountains that have no parallel in the 
United States for beauty. Amid a sun of uncommon 
splendor, dazzling the eye with the reflection upon the 
water below, we descended into the valley, and I was 
soon again seated by the fireside of our hospitable hostess. 
In the afternoon of the same day we took a drive to the 
^^ Dove's Nest," the home of the late Mrs. Hemans. 

We did not see the inside of the house, on account of 
its being occupied by a very eccentric man, who will not 
permit a woman to enter the house ; and it is said that 
he has been known to run when a female had uncon- 
sciously intruded herself upon his premises. - As our 
company was in part composed of ladies, we had to share 
their fate, and therefore were prevented from seeing the 
interior of the ^' Dove's Nest." The exhibitor of such a 
man would be almost sure of a prize at the Great Exhi- 

At the head of Grassmere Lake, and surrounded by a 
few cottages, stands an old, gray, antique-looking parish 
church, venerable with the lapse of centuries, and the 
walls partly covered with ivy, and in the rear of which is 
the parish burial-ground. After leaving the '' Dove's 
Nest," and having a pleasant ride over the hills and be- 
tween the mountains, and just as the sun was disappear- 


ing behind them, we arrived at the gate of Grassmere 
Church ; and, alighting and following Miss M., we soon 
found ourselves standing over a grave, marked by a sin- 
gle stone, and that, too, very plain, with a name deeply 
cut. This announced to us that we were standing over 
the grave of William Wordsworth. He chose his own 
grave, and often visited the spot before his death. He 
lies in the most sequestered spot in the whole grounds ; 
and the simplicity and beauty of the place were enough to 
make one in love with it, to be laid so far from the bustle 
of the world, and in so sweet a place. The more one 
becomes acquainted with the literature of the Old World, 
the more he must love her poets. Among the teachers 
of men, none are more worthy of study than the poets ; 
and, as teachers, they should receive far more credit than 
is yielded to them. No one can look back upon the lives 
of Dante, Shakspeare, Milton, Goethe, Cowper, and 
many others that we might name, without being reminded 
of the sacrifices which they made for mankind, and which 
were not appreciated until long after their deaths. We 
need look no further than our own country to find men 
and women wielding the pen practically and powerfully 
for the right. It is acknowledged on all hands, in this 
country, that England has the greatest dead poets, and 
America the greatest living ones. The poet and the true 
Christian have alike a hidden life. Worship is the vital 
element of each. Poetry has in it that kind of utility 
which good men find in their Bible, rather than such 
convenience as bad men often profess to draw from it. 


It ennobles the sentiments, enlarges the affections, kindles 
the imagination, and gives to us the enjoyment of a life 
in the past, and in the future, as well as in the present. 
Under its light and warmth, we wake from our torpidity 
and coldness, to a sense of our capabilities. This impulse 
once given, a great object is gained. Schiller has truly 
said, '^Poetry can be to a man what love is to a hero. 
It can neither counsel him, nor smite him, nor perform 
any labor for him ; but it can bring him up to be a hero, 
can summon him to deeds, and arm him with strength for 
all he ought to be.'^ I have often read with pleasure the 
sweet poetry of our own Whitfield, of Buffalo, which has 
appeared from time to time in the columns of the newspa- 
pers. I have always felt ashamed of the fact that he 
should be compelled to wield the razor instead of the pen 
for a living. Meaner poets than James M. Whitfield are 
now living by their compositions ; and were he a white 
man he would occupy a different position. 

Near the grave of Wordsworth is that of Hartley 
Coleridge. This name must be lifted up as a beacon, 
with all its pleasant and interesting associations ; it must 
be added to the list in which some names of brighter 
fame are written — Burns, Byron, Campbell, and others 
their compeers. They had all the rich endowment of 
genius, and might, in achieving fame for themselves, 
have gained glory for God, and great good for man. 
But they looked ^'upon the wine when it was red,'' and 
gave life and fame, and their precious gifts, and God's 
blessing, for its false and ruinous joys. We would not 


drag forth their names that we may gloat over their 
infirmities. We pity them for their sad fall. We ac- 
knowledge the strength of their temptations, and, walk- 
ing backwards, would throw a mantle over their frailties. 
But these men are needed, also, as warnings. The moral 
world must have its light-houses. Thousands of young 
men are running down upon the same rocks on which 
they were cast away. If the light of their genius has 
made them conspicuous, let us then use their conspicuity, 
and throw a ray from them, as from a beacon, far out 
upon the dim and perilous sea. 

Hartley Coleridge was the eldest son of Samuel Taylor 
Coleridge, poet and metaphysician. He had some of his 
father's gifts, particularly his captivating conversational 
power, and his propensity for novel and profound specu- 
lation. He had also his father's infirmity of purpose. 
In the case of the son, the reason, as the world is now 
informed in a biography written by his brother, was that 
he early became the slave of intemperate habits, from 
which no aspirations of his own heart, no struggles with 
the enslaving appetite, and no efforts of sympathizing 
and sorrowful friends, could ever deliver him. He 
gained a fellowship in Oriel College, Oxford, and for- 
feited it in consequence of these habits. He then cast 
himself, as a literary adventurer, into the wild vortex of 
London life ; failed sadly in all his projects ; drank deep 
of the treacherous wine-cup, often to his own shame and 
the chagrin of his friends, from whom he would some- 
times hide himself in places where restraint was unknown 


and shame forgotteiij that he might be delivered from 
their reproachful pity. In the end, he betook himself to 
a cottage near Grassmere, and where, on the 6th of Jan- 
uary, 1849, he died, not, we trust, without penitence 
and faith in the Eedeemer of guilty and wTetched men. 

Hartley Coleridge tells us, in one of his confessions, 
that his first resort to wine was for the purpose of seek- 
ing relief from the sting of defeated ambition. This 
temptation was necessarily brief in its duration ; for time 
would gradually extract this sting from his sensitive 
mind and heart. This, therefore, w^as not the doorway 
of the path which led him down to the gulf The '' wine 
parties" of Oxford were the scenes in which Hartley 
Coleridge was betrayed and lost. We have but a mo- 
mentary glimpse of these things in the biography ; but 
that glimpse is sufficient. It reveals to us what in pop- 
ular language is called a gay scone, but which to us, 
and in reality, is sombre as death. In the midst of it 
there sits a bright-eyed, enthusiastic, impetuous young 
man, heated with repeated draughts of wine, urged by 
his fellow-revellers to drink deeper, yielding readily to 
their solicitations, and pouring forth all the while a 
stream of continuous and sparkling discourse, which fas- 
cinated his companions by its wit, its facility and its 
beauty. Alas ! how many of those companions, it may 
be, are with him in graves where men can only weep and 
be silent ! 

It has often been said, and with much truth, that 
there is no more dangerous gift for a young man than 


to be able to sing a good song. It is equally dangerous, 
we think, to be known as a good talker. The gift of 
rapid, brilliant, mirth-moving speech, is a perilous pos- 
session. The dullards, for whose amusement this gift is 
so often invoked, know well that to ply its possessor 
with wine is the readiest way to bring out its power. 
But in the end the wine destroys the intellect, and the 
man of wit degenerates into a buiBToon, and dies a drunk- 
ard. Such is the brief life and history of many a young 
man, who, behind the stained-glass windows of the 
fashionable restaurant^ or in the mirrored and cushioned 
rooms of the club-house, was hailed as the ^' prince of 
good fellows," and the rarest of wits. The laughing 
applauders pass on, each in his own way, and he who 
made them sport is left to struggle in solitude with the 
enemy they have helped to fasten upon him. Let every 
young man who longs for these gifts, and envies their 
possessors, remember '^ poor Hartley Coleridge." Let 
them be warned by the fate of one who was caught in 
the toils they are weaving around themselves, and per- 
ished therein, leaving behind him the record of a life of 
unfulfilled purposes, and of great departures from the 
path of duty and peace. 

After remaining a short time, and reading the epitaphs 
of the departed, we again returned to ''The Knoll." 
Nothing can be m.ore imposing than the beauty of Eng- 
lish park scenery, and especially in the vicinity of the 
Lakes. Magnificent lawns that extend like sheets of 
vivid green, with here and there a sprinkling of fine 


treeSj heaping up rich piles of foliage, and then the forest 
with the hare, the deer, and the rabbit, ^' bounding away 
to the covert, or the pheasant suddenly bursting upon 
the wing — the artificial stream, the brook taught to 
wind in natural meanderings, or expand into the glassy 
lake, with the yellow leaf sleeping upon its bright 
waters, and occasionally a rustic temple or sylvan statue 
grown green and dark with age," give an air of sanctity 
and picturesque beauty to English scenery that is un- 
known in the United States. The very laborer with his 
thatched cottage and narrow slip of ground-plot before 
the door, the little flower-bed, the woodbine trimmed 
against the wall, and hanging its blossoms about the 
windows, and the peasant seen trudging home at night- 
fall with the avails of the toil of the day upon his back — 
all this tells us of the happiness both of rich and poor in 
this country. And yet there are those who would have 
the world believe that the laborer of England is in a far 
worse condition than the slaves of America. Such per- 
sons know nothing of the real condition of the working 
classes of this country. At any rate, the poor here, as 
well as the rich, are upon a level, as far as the laws of 
the country are concerned. The more one becomes ac- 
quainted with the English people, the more one has to 
admire them. They are so different from the people of 
our own country. Hospitality, frankness and good 
humor, are always to be found in an Englishman. After 
a ramble of three days about the Lakes, we mounted the 
coach, bidding Miss Martineau farewell, and quitted the 
lake district. 


** And there are dresses splendid but fantastical, 

Masks of all times and nations, Turks and Jews, 

And Harlequins and Clowns with feats gymnastical ; 

Greeks, Romans, Yankee-doodles, and Hindoos." 

PRESUMiNa that you will expect from me some ac- 
count of the great World's Fair, I take my pen to give 
you my own impressions, although I am afraid that any- 
thing which I may say about this '^lion of the day'' 
will fall far short of a description. On Monday last, I 
quitted my lodgings at an early hour, and started for the 
Crystal Palace. The day was fine, such as we seldom 
experience in London, with a clear sky, and invigorating 
air, whose vitality was as rousing to the spirits as a blast 
from the '' horn of Astolpho." Although it was not yet 
ten o'clock when I entered Piccadilly, every omnibus was 
full, inside and out, and the street was lined with one 
living stream, as far as the eye could reach, all wending 
their way to the ^^ Glass House." No metropolis in the 
world presents such facilities as London for the reception 
of the Great Exhibition now collected within its walls. 
Throughout its myriads of veins the stream of industry 
and toil pulses with sleepless energy. Every one seems 


to feel that this great capital of the world is the fittest 
place wherein they might offer homage to the dignity of 
toil. I had already begun to feel fatigued by my pedes- 
trian excursions as I passed ^^ Apsley House/', the resi- 
dence of the Duke of Wellington, and emerged into Hyde 

I had hoped that on getting into the Park I would be 
out of the crowd that seemed to press so heavily in the 
street. But in this I was mistaken. I here found my- 
self surrounded by and moving with an overwhelming 
mass, such as I had never before witnessed. And, away 
in the distance, I beheld a dense crowd, and above every 
other object was seen the lofty summit of the Crystal 
Palace. The drive in the Park was lined with princely- 
looking vehicles of every description. The drivers in 
their bright red and gold uniforms, the pages and footmen 
in their blue trousers and white silk stockings, and the 
horses dressed up in their neat, silver-mounted harness, 
made the scene altogether one of great splendor. I vfas 
soon at the door, paid my shilling, and entered the 
building at the south end of the transept. For the first 
ten or twenty minutes, I was so lost in astonishment, 
and absorbed in pleasing wonder, that I could do nothing 
but gaze up and down the vista of the noble building. 
The Crystal Palace resembles in some respects the inte- 
rior of the cathedrals of this country. One long avenue 
from east to west is intercepted by a transept, which 
divides the building into two nearly equal parfs. This 
is the greatest building the world ever saw, before which 


the Pyramids of Egypt, and the Colossus of Rhodes must 
hide their diminished heads. The palace was not full at 
any time during the day, there being only sixty-four 
thousand persons present. Those who love to study the 
human countenance in all its infinite varieties can find 
ample scope for the indulgence of their taste, by a visit 
to the World's Fair. All countries are there repre- 
sented — Europeans, Asiatics, Americans and Africans, 
with their numerous subdivisions. Even the exclusive 
Chinese, wdth his hair braided, and hanging down his 
back, has left the land of his nativity, and is seen making 
long strides through the Crystal Palace, in his wooden- 
bottomed shoes. Of all places of curious costumes and 
different fashions, none has ever yet presented such a 
variety as this Exhibition. No dress is too absurd to be 
worn in this place. 

There is a great deal of freedom in the Exhibition. 
The servant who walks behind his mistress throu^ the 
Park feels that he can crowd against her in the Exhibi- 
tion. The queen and the day laborer, the prince and 
the merchant, the peer and the pauper, the Celt and the 
Saxon, the Greek and the Frank, the Hebrew and the 
Russ, all meet here upon terms of perfect equality. 
This amalgamation of rank, this kindly blending of inter- 
ests, and forgetfulness of the cold formalities of ranks 
and grades, cannot but be attended with the very best 
results.^ was pleased to see such a goodly sprinkling of 
my own countrymen in the Exhibition — I mean colored 
men and women — well-dressed, and moving about with 


their fairer brethren. This, some of our pro-slavery 
Americans did not seem to relish very well. There was 
no help for it. As I walked through the American part 
of the Crystal Palace some of our Virginia neighbors 
eyed me closely and with jealous looks, especially as an 
English lady was leaning on my arm. But their sneer- 
ing looks did not disturb me in the least. I remained the 
longer in their department, and criticized the bad aj)pear- 
ance of their goods the more. Indeed, the Americans, 
as far as appearance goes, are behind every other coun- 
try in the Exhibition. The ^' Greek Slave" is the only 
production of art which the United States has sent. 
And it would have been more to their credit had they 
kept that at home. In so vast a place as the Great Ex- 
hibition one scarcely knows what to visit first, or what to 
look upon last. After wandering about through the 
building for five hours, I sat down in one of the galleries 
and looked at the fine marble statue of Virginius, with 
the knife in his hand and about to take the life of his 
beloved and beautiful daughter, to save her from the 
hands of Appius Claudius. The admirer of genius will 
linger for hours among the great variety of statues in 
the long avenue. Large statues of Lords Eldon and 
Stowell, carved out of solid marble, each weighing above 
twenty tons, are among the most gigantic in the build- 

I was sitting with my four hundred paged gmde-book 
before me, and looking down upon the mov™ mass^ 
when my attention was called to a small group of gentle- 


men standing near the statue of Shakspeare, one of whom 
wore a white coat and hat, and had flaxen hair, and 
trousers rather short in the legs. The lady by my side, 
and who had called my attention to the group, asked if 
I could tell what country this odd-looking gentleman 
was from. Not wishing to run the risk of a mistake, 
I was about declining to venture an opinion, when the 
reflection of the sun against a mirror, on the opposite 
side, threw a brilliant light upon the group, and especi- 
ally on the face of the gentleman in the white coat, and 
I immediately recognized under the brim of the white 
liat the features of Horace Greeley, Esq., of the New 
York Tribune. His general appearance was as much 
out of the English style as that of the Turk whom 
I had seen but a moment before, in his bag-like trou- 
sers, shufiling along in his slippers. But oddness in 
dress is one of the characteristics of the Great Exhibi- 

Among the many things in the Crystal Palace, there 
are some which receive greater attention than others, 
around which may always be seen large groups of the 
visitors. The first of these is the Koh-i-noor, the 

^^ Mountain of Light." This is the largest and most 
valuable diamond in the world, said to be worth two mil- 
lion pounds sterling. It is indeed a great source of 
attraction to those who go to the Exhibition for the first 
time, buMt is doubtful whether it obtains such admiration 
afterwaMs. We saw more than one spectator turn away 

* with the idea that, after all, it was only a piece of glass. 



After some jamming, I got a look at the precious jewel : 
and although in a brass-grated cage, strong enough to 
hold a lion, I found it to be no larger than the third of a 
hen's egg. Two policemen remain by its side day and 

The finest thing in the Exhibition is the ^'Veiled 
Vestal/' a statue of a w^oman carved in marble, with a 
veil over her face, and so neatly done that it looks as if 
it had been thrown over after it was finished. The Ex- 
hibition presents many things which appeal to the eye 
and touch the heart, and altogether it is so decorated 
and furnished as to excite the dullest mind, and satisfy 
the most fastidious. 

England has contributed the most useful and substan- 
tial articles ; France, the most beautiful ; while Russia, 
Turkey and the West Indies, seem to vie with each 
other in richness. China and Persia are not behind. 
Austria has also contributed a rich and beautiful stock. 
Sweden, Norway, Denmark, and the smaller states of 
Europe, have all tried to outdo themselves in sending 
goods to the World's Fair. In machinery, England has 
no competitor. In art, France is almost alone in the 
Exhibition, setting aside England. .^ 

In natural productions and provisions, America stands 
alone in her glory. There lies her pile of canvassed 
hams ; whether they were wood or real, we could not tell. 
There are her barrels of salt beef and pork, hgk beauti- 
ful white lard, her Indian-corn and corn-mea^her rice 
and tobacco, her beef-tongues, dried peas, and a few 


bags of cotton. The contributors from the United States 
seemed to have forgotten that this was an exhibition of 
art, or they most certainly would not have sent provi- 
sions. But the United States takes the lead in the con- 
tributions, as no other country has sent in provisions. 
The finest thing contributed by our countrymen is a 
large piece of silk with an eagle painted upon it, sur- 
rounded by stars and stripes. 

After remaining more than five hours in the great tem- 
ple, I turned my back upon the richly-laden stalls, and left 
the Crystal Palace. On my return home I was more for- 
tunate than in the morning, inasmuch as I found a seat 
for my friend and myself in an omnibus. And even my 
ride in the close omnibus was not without interest. For 
I had scarcely taken my seat, when my friend, who was 
seated opposite me, with looks and gesture informed me 
that we were in the presence of some distinguished per- 
son. I eyed the countenances of the different persons, 
but in vain, to see if I could find any one who by his 
appearance showed signs of superiority over his fellow- 
passengers. I had given up the hope of selecting the 
person of note, w^hen another look from my friend di- 
rected my attention to a gentleman seated in the corner 
of the omnibus. He was a tall man, with strongly- 
marked features, hair dark and coarse. There was a 
slight stoop of the shoulder — that bend which is almost 
always J; characteristic of studious men. But he wore 
upon hfe countenance a forbidding and disdainful frown, 
that seemed to tell one that he thought himself better 


tlian those about liim. His dress did not indicate a man 
of high rank ; and had we been in Americaj I would 
have taken him for an Ohio farmer. 

While I was scanning the features and general ap- 
pearance of the gentleman, the omnibus stopped and put 
down three or four of the passengers, which gave me an 
opportunity of getting a seat by the side of my friend, 
Avho, in a low whisper, informed me that the gentleman 
whom I had been eying so closely w^as no less a person 
than Thomas Carlyle. I had read his '^ Hero-worship," 
and '^ Past and Present,'' and had formed a high opinion 
of his literary abilities. But his recent attack upon the 
emancipated people of the West Indies, and his laborious 
article in favor of the reestablishment of the lash and 
slavery, had created in my mind a dislike for the man, 
and I almost regretted that we were in the same omni- 
bus. In some things Mr. Carlyle is right: but in 
many he is entirely wrong. As a writer, Mr. Carlyle 
is often monotonous and extravagant. He does not ex- 
hibit a new view of nature, or raise insignificant objects 
into importance ; but generally takes commonplace 
thoughts and events, and tries to express them in 
stronger and statelier language than others. He holds 
no communion with his kind, but stands alone, without 
mate or fellow. He is like a solitary peak, all access to 
which is cut off. He exists not by sympathy, but by an- 
tipathy. Mr. Carlyle seems chiefly to try how he shall 
display his own powers, and astonish mankind, by start- 
ing new trains of speculation, or by expressing old ones 


SO as not to be understood. He cares little what he 
saySj so as he can say it differently from others. To 
read his works, is one thing ; to understand them, is an- 
other. If any one thinks that I exaggerate, let him sit 
for an hour over ^' Sartor Eesartus," and if he does not 
rise from its pages, place his three or four dictionaries on 
the shelf, and say I am right, I promise never again to 
say a word against Thomas Carlyle. He writes one 
page in favor of reform, and ten against it. He would 
hang all prisoners to get rid of them ; yet the inmates of 
the prisons and ''workhouses are better off than the 
poor." His heart is with the poor; yet the blacks of 
the West Indies should be taught that if they will not 
raise sugar and cotton by their own free Avill, '' Quashy 
should have the whip applied to him.'' He frowns upon 
the reformatory speakers upon the boards of Exeter Hall ; 
yet he is the prince of reformers. He hates heroes and 
assassins; yet Cromwell was an angel, and Charlotte 
Corday a saint. He scorns everything, and seems to be 
tired of what he is by nature, and tries to be what he is 


'* The time shall come, when, free as seas or wind. 
Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind 
Whole nations enter with each swelling tide. 
And seas but join the regions they divide ; 
Earth's distant ends our glories shall behold. 
And the New World launch forth to meet the Old." 


The past six weeks have been of a stirring nature in 
this great metropolis. It commenced with the Peace 
Congress, the proceedings of which have long since 
reached you. And although that event has passed off, 
it may not be out of place here to venture a remark or 
two upon its deliberations. 

A meeting upon the subject of peace, with the support 
of the monied and influential men who rally around the 
peace standard, could scarcely have been held in Exeter 
Hall without creating some sensation. From all parts 
of the world flocked delegates to this practical protest 
against war. And among those who took part in the 
proceedings were many men whose names alone would, 
even on ordinary occasions, have filled the great hall. 
The speakers were chosen from among the representa- 
tives of the various countries, without regard to dialect 


or complexion ; and the only fault which seemed to be 
found with the committee's arrangement was, that in 
their desire to get foreigners and Londoners, they forgot 
the country delegates, so that none of the large provin- 
cial towns were at all represented in the Congress, so far 
as speaking was concerned. Manchester, Leeds, New- 
castle, and all the important towns in Scotland aud Ire- 
land, were silenced in the great meeting. T need not 
say that this was an oversight of the committee, and one, 
too, that has done some injury. Such men as the able 
chairman of the late Anti-Corn-Law League cannot be 
forgotten in such a meeting, without giving offence to 
those who sent him, especially wheri the committee 
brought forward, day after day, the same speakers, 
chosen from amongst the metropolitan delegation. How- 
ever, the meeting was a glorious one, and will long be 
remembered with delight as a step onward in the cause 
of peace. Burritt's Brotherhood Bazaar followed close 
upon the heels of the Peace Congress; and this had 
scarcely closed, when that ever-memorable meeting of 
the American fugitive slaves took place in the Hall of 

The temperance people made the next reformatory 
move. This meeting took place in Exeter Hall, and was 
made up of delegates from the various towns in the king- 
dom. They had come from the North, East, West and 
South. There was the quick-spoken son of the Emer- 
ald Isle, with his pledge suspended from his neck ; 
there, too, the Scot, speaking his broad dialect ; also the 


representatives from the provincial towns of England 
and Wales, who seemed to speak anything but good 

The day after the meeting had closed in Exeter Hall, 
the country societies, together with those of the metrop- 
olis, assembled in Hjde Park, and then walked to the 
Crystal Palace. Their number while going to the Exhi- 
bition was variously estimated at from fifteen thousand 
to twenty thousand, and was said to have been the largest 
gathering of teetotallers ever assembled in London. They 
consisted chiefly of the working classes, their wives and 
children — clean, well-dressed and apparently happy : 
their looks indicating in every way those orderly habits 
which, beyond question, distinguish the devotees of that 
cause above the common laborers of this country. On 
arriving at the Exhibition, they soon distributed them- 
selves among the departments, to revel in its various 
w^onders, eating their own lunch, and drinking from the 
Crystal Fountain. 

And, now I am at the world's wonder, I will remain 
here until I finish this sheet. I have spent fifteen davs 
in the Exhibition, and have conversed with those who 
have spent double that number amongst its beauties, and 
the general opinion appears to be that six months would 
not be too long to remain within its walls to enable one 
to examine its laden stalls. Many persons make the 
Crystal Palace their home^ with the exception of night. 
I have seen them come in the morning, visit the dress- 
ing-room, then go to the refreshment-room, and sit down 


to breakfast as if they been at their hotel. Dinner and 
tea would be taken in turn. 

The Crystal Fountain is the great place of meeting in 
the Exhibition. There you may see husbands looking for 
lost wives, wives for stolen husbands, mothers for their 
lost children, and towns-people for their country friends ; 
and, unless you have an appointment at a certain place at 
an hour, you might as well prowl through the streets of 
London to find a friend as in the Great Exhibition. 
There is great beauty in the '^ Glass House." Here, in 
the transept, with the glorious sunlight coming through 
that wonderful glass roof, may the taste be cultivated 
and improved, the mind edified, and the feelings chas- 
tened. Here, surrounded by noble creations in marble 
and bronze, and in the midst of an admiring throng, one 
may gaze at statuary which might fitly decorate the 
house of the proudest prince in Christendom. 

He who takes his station in the gallery, at either end, 
and looks upon that wondrous nave, or who surveys the 
matchless panorama around him from the intersection 
of the nave and transept, may be said, without presump- 
TOn or exaggeration, to see all the kingdoms of this 
world and the glory of them. He sees not only a greater 
collection of fine articles, but also a greater as well as 
more various assemblage of the human race, than ever 
before was gathered under one roof 

One of the beauties of this great international gather- 
ing is, that it is not confined to rank or grade. The 
million toilers from mine, and factory, and workshop, 


and loom, and officGj and fieldj share with their more 
wealthy neighbors the feast of reason and imagination 
spread out in the Crystal Palace. 

It is strange, indeed, to see so many nations assembled 
and represented on one spot of British ground. In 
short, it is one great theatre, with thousands of per- 
formers, each playing his own part. England is there, 
with her mighty engines toiling and whirring, indefati- 
gable in her enterprises to shorten labor. India spreads 
her glitter and paint. France, refined and fastidious, is 
there every day, giving the last touch to her picturesque 
group ; and the other countries, each in its turn doing 
what it can to show off. The distant hum of thou- 
sands of good-humored people, with occasionally a na- 
tional anthem from some gigantic organ, together with 
the noise of the machinery, seems to send life into every 
part of the Crystal Palace. 

When you get tired of walking you can sit down and 
write your impressions, and there is the ^^post" to re- 
ceive your letter ; or, if it be Friday or Saturday, you 
may, if you choose, rest yourself by hearing a Jiecture 
from Professor Anstead; and then, before leaving, taw 
your last look, and see something that you have not 
before seen. Everything which is old in cities, new in 
colonial life, splendid in courts, useful in industry, beau- 
tiful in nature, or ingenious in invention, is there repre- 
sented. In one place we have the Bible translated into 
one hundred and fifty languages ; in another, we have 
saints and archbishops painted on glass ; in another, old 


palaces, and the altars of a John Knox, a Baxter, or 
some other divines of olden time. In the old Temple 
of Delphi we read that every state of the civilized world 
had its separate treasury, where Herodotus, born two 
thousand years before his time, saw and observed all 
kinds of prodigies in gold and silver, brass and iron, and 
even in linen. The nations all met there, on one common 
ground, and the peace of the earth was not a little pro- 
moted by their common interest in the sanctity and 
splendor of that shrine. As long as the Exhibition lasts, 
and its memory endures, we hope and trust that it may 
shed the same influence. With this hasty scrap I take 
leave of the Great Exhibition. 


** And gray walls moulder round, on which dull time 
Feeds, like slow fire upon a hoary brand ; 
And one keen pyramid, with wedge sublime, 
Stands o'er the dust of him who planned." 


I HAVE just finished a short visit to the far-famed 
city of Oxford, which has not unaptly been styled the 
City of Palaces. Aside from this being one of the prin- 
cipal seats of learning in the world, it is distinguished 
alike for its religious and political changes in times past. 
At one time it was the seat of Popery ; at another, the 
uncompromising enemy of Rome. Here the tyrant 
Eichard the Third held his court; and when James the 
First and his son Charles the First found their capij^ 
too hot to hold them, they removed to their loyal city oi 
Oxford. The writings of the great republicans were 
here committed to the flames. At one time Popery sent 
Protestants to the stake and fagot ; at another, a Papist 
king found no favor with the people. A noble monu- 
ment now stands where Cranmer, Ridley and Latimer, 
proclaimed their sentiments and faith, and sealed them 
with their blood. And now we read upon the town 


treasurer's book— '^ For three loads of wood, one load of 
fagots, one post, two chains and staples, to burn Ridley 
and Latimer, £1 5s. Ic/." Such is the information one 
gets by looking over the records of books written three 
centuries ago. 

It was a beautiful day on which I arrived at Oxford, 
and, instead of remaining in my hotel, I sallied forth to 
take a survey of the beauties of the city. I strolled 
into Christ Church Meadows, and there spent the even- 
ing in viewing the numerous halls of learning which 
surround that splendid promenade. And fine old build- 
ings they are : centuries have rolled over many of them, 
hallowing the old walls, and making them gray with 
age. They have been for ages the chosen homes of 
piety and philosophy. Heroes and scholars have gone 
forth from their studies here into the great field of the 
world, to seek their fortunes, and to conquer and be con- 
quered. As I surveyed the exterior of the different col- 
leges, I could here and there see the reflection of the 
light from the window of some student, who was busy at 
Jus studies, or throwing away his time over some trashy 
novel, too many of which find their way into the trunks 
or carpet-bags of the young men on setting out for col- 
lege. As I looked upon the walls of these buildings I 
thought, as the rough stone is taken from the quarry to 
the finisher, there to be made into an ornament, so was 
the young mind brought here to be cultivated and devel- 
oped. Many a poor, unobtrusive young man, with the 
appearance of little or no ability, is here moulded into a 


hero, a scholarj a tyrant, or a friend of humanity. I 
never look upon these monuments of education without a 
feeling of regret that so few of our own race can find a 
place w^ithin their walls. And, this being the fact, I see 
more and more the need of our people being encouraged 
tO- turn their attention more seriously to self-education, 
and thus to take a respectable position before the world, 
by virtue of their own cultivated minds and moral 

Education, though obtained by a little at a time, and 
that, too, over the midnight lamp, will place its owner in 
a position to be respected by all, even though he be 
black. I know that the obstacles which the laws of the 
land and of society place between the colored man and 
education in the United States are very great, yet if one 
can break through these barriers more can ;. and if our 
people would only place the right appreciation upon edu- 
cation, they would find these obstacles are easier to be 
overcome than at first sight appears. A young man 
once asked Carlyle what was the secret of success. His 
reply was, '^Energy; whatever you undertake, do it with 
all your might." Had it not been for the possession of 
energy, I might now have been working as a servant for 
some brainless fellow who might be able to command my 
labor with his money, or I might have been yet toiling 
in chains and slavery. But thanks to energy, not only for 
my being to-day in a land of freedom, but also for my dear 
girls being in one of the best seminaries in France, in- 
stead of being in an American school, where the finger 


of scorn would be pointed at them by those whose supe- 
riority rests entirely upon their having a whiter skin. 

Oxford is, indeed, one of the finest located places in the 
kingdom, and every inch of ground about it seems hallowed 
by interesting associations. The university, founded by 
the good King Alfred, still throws its shadow upon the 
side- walk ; and the lapse of ten centuries seems to have 
made but little impression upon it. Other seats of learn- 
ing may be entitled to our admiration, but Oxford claims 
our veneration. Although the lateness of the night 
compelled me, yet I felt an unwillingness to tear myself 
from the scene of such surpassing interest. Few places 
in any country as noted as Oxford is are without some 
distinguished person residing within their precincts ; and, 
knowing that the city of palaces was not an exception to 
this rule, I resolved to see some of its lions. Here, of 
course, is the head-quarters of the Bishop of Oxford, a 
son of the late William Wilberforce, Africa's noble 
champion. I should have been glad to have seen this 
distinguished pillar of the church ; but I soon, learned 
that the bishop's residence was out of town, and that he 
seldom visited the city, except on business. I then 
determined to see one who, although a lesser dignitary 
in the church, is, nevertheless, scarcely less known than 
the Bishop of Oxford. This was the Rev. Dr. Pusey, 
a divine whose name is known wherever the religion of 
Jesus is known and taught, and the acknowledged head 
of the Puseyites. On the second morning of my visit I 
proceeded to Christ Church Chapel, where the reverend 


gentleman officiates. Fortunately I had an opportunity 
of seeing the doctor, and following close in his footsteps 
to the church. His personal appearance is anything but 
that of one who is the leader of a growing and powerful 
party in the church. He is rather under the middle 
size, and is round-shouldered, or rather stoops. His 
profile is more striking than his front face, the nose being 
very large and prominent. As a matter of course, I ex- 
pected to see a large nose, for all great men have them. 
He has a thoughtful and somewhat sullen brow, a firm and 
somewhat pensive mouth, a cheek pale, thin, and deeply 
furrowed. A monk fresh from the cloisters of Tinterran 
Abbey, in its proudest days, could scarcely have made a 
more ascetic and solemn appearance than did Dr. Pusey 
on this occasion. He is not apparently above forty-five, 
or, at most, fifty years of age, and his w^hole aspect renders 
him an admirable study for an artist. Dr. Pusey's style 
of preaching is cold and tame, and one looking at him 
would scarcely believe that such an apparently uninter- 
esting man could cause such' an eruption in the church as 
he has. T was glad to find that a colored young man 
was among the students at Oxford. 

A few months since, I paid a visit to our countryman, 
Alexander Crummel, who is still pursuing his studies at 
Cambridge, — a place which, though inferior to Oxford 
as far as appearance is concerned, is yet said to be greatly 
its superior as a place of learning. In an hour's walk 
through the Strand, Eegent-street or Piccadilly, in 
London, one may meet half a dozen colored men^ who are 



inmates of the various colleges in the metropolis. These 
are all signs of progress in the cause of the sons of 
Africa. Then let our people take courage, and with 
that courage let them apply themselves to learning. A 
determination to excel is the sure road to greatness, and 
that is as open to the black man as the white. It is 
that which has accomplished the mightiest and noblest 
triumphs in the intellectual and physical world. It is 
that which has made such rapid strides towards civiliza- 
tion, and broken the chains of ignorance and superstition 
which have so long fettered the human intellect, ^t was 
determination which raised so many worthy individuals 
from the humble walks of society, and from poverty, and 
placed them in positions of trust and renown. It is no 
slight barrier that can effectually oppose the determina- 
tion of the will ; — success must ultimately crown its 
efiForts. ^^ The world shall hear of me," was the excla- 
mation of one whose name has become as familiar as 
household words. A Toussaiiit once labored in the 
sugar-field with his spelling-book in his pocket, amid the 
combined efforts of a; nation to keep him in ignorance. 
His name is now recorded among the list of statesmen of 
the past. A Soulouque was once a slave, and knew not 
how to read. He now sits upon the throne of an 

In our own country there are men who once held the. 
plough, and that too without any compensation, who are 
now presiding at the editor's table. It was determina- 
tion that brought out the genius of a Franklin, and a 


Fulton, and that has distinguished many of the Ameri- 
can statesmen, who, but for their energy and determina- 
tion, would never have had a name beyond the precincts 
of their own homes. 

It is not always those who have the best advantages, 
or the greatest talents, that eventually succeed in their 
undertakings : but it is those who strive with untiring 
diligence to remove all obstacles to success, and who, 
with unconquerable resolution, labor on until the rich 
reward of perseverance is within their grasp. Then 
again let me say to our young men. Take courage. 
^^ There is a good time coming." The darkness of the 
night appears greatest just before the dawn of day. 


" Blush ye not 
To boast your equal laws, your just restraints, 
Your rights defined, your liberties secured ; 
Whilst, with an iron hand, ye crush to earth 
The helpless African, and bid him drink 
That cup of sorrow which yourselves have dashed. 
Indignant, from Oppression's fainting grasp ? " 

William Roscoe. 

The love of freedom is one of those natural impulses 
of the human breast which cannot be extinguished. Even ' 
the brute animals of the creation feel and show sorrow 
and aflFection when deprived of their liberty. Therefore 
is a distinguished writer justified in saying, ''Man is 
free, even were he born in chains." The Americans 
boast, and justly too, that Washington was the hero and 
model patriot of the American Revolution, — the man 
whose fame, unequalled in his own day and country, will 
descend to the end of time, the pride and honor of 
humanity. The American speaks with pride of the 
battles of Lexington and Bunker Hill ; and, when stand- 
ing in Faneuil Hall, he points to the portraits of Otis, 
Adams, Hancock, Quincy, Warren and Franklin, and 


tells you that their names will go down to posterity 
among the world's most devoted and patriotic friends of 
human liberty. 

It was on the first of August, 1851, that, a number 
of men, fugitives from that boasted land of freedom, 
assembled at the Hall of Commerce in the city of London, 
for the purpose of laying their wrongs before the British 
nation, and, at the same time, to give thanks to the God 
of freedom for the liberation of their West India brethren 
on the first of August, 1834. Little notice had been 
given of the intended meeting, yet it seemed to be ^nown 
in all parts of the city. At the hour of half-past seven, 
for which the meeting had been called, the spacious hall 
was well filled, and the fugitives, followed by some of the 
most noted English Abolitionists, entered the hall, amid 
the most deafening applause, and took their seats on the 
platform. The appearance of the great hall at this junc- 
ture was most splendid. Besides the committee of fugi- 
tives, on the platform there were a number of the oldest 
and most devoted of the slaves' friends. On the left of 
the chair sat Geo. Thompson, Esq., M.P. ; near him 
was the Kev. Jabez Burns, D.D., and by his side the 
Rev. John Stevenson, M.A., Wm. Farmer, Esq., R. 
Smith, Esq. ; while on the other side were Joseph 
Hume, Esq., M.P., John Lee, LL.D., Sir J. Walmsley, 
M.P., the Rev. Edward Matthews, John Cunliff. Esq., 
Andrew Paton, Esq., J. P. Edwards, Esq., and a number 
of colored gentlemen from the West Indies. The body 
of the hall was not without its distinguished guests. The 


Chapmans and Westons of Boston, U. S., were there. 
The Estlins and Tribes had come all the way from Bristol 
to attend the great meeting. The Batons, of Glasgow, 
had delayed their departure, so as to be present. The 
Massies had come in from Upper Clapton. Not far from 
the platform sat Sir Francis Knowles, Bart. ; still further 
back was Samuel Bowly, Esq., while near the door were 
to be seen the greatest critic of the age, and England's 
best living poet. Macaulay had laid aside the pen, 
entered the hall, and was standing near the central door, 
while not far from the historian stood the newly-ap- 
pointed Poet Laureate. The author of ^' In Memoriam" 
had been swept in by the crowd, and was standing with 
his arms folded, and beholding for the first time (and 
probably the last) so large a number of colored men in '1 
one room. In different parts of the hall were men and 
women from nearly all parts of the kingdom, besides a 
large number who, drawn to London by the Exhibition, 
had come in to see and hear these oppressed people plead 
their own cause. 

The writer of this sketch was chosen chairman of the 
meeting, and commenced its proceedings by delivering 
the following address, which we cut from the columns 
of the Morning Advertiser : 

^ ^' The chairman, in opening the proceedings, remarked 
that, although the metropolis had of late been inundated 
with meetings of various characters, having reference to 
almost every variety of subjects, yet that the subject 



they were called upon that evening to discuss differed 
from them all. Many of those by whom he was sur- 
rounded, like himself, had been victims to the inhuman 
institution of slavery, and were in consequence exiled 
from the land of their birth. They were fugitives from 
their native land, but not fugitives from justice; and they 
had not fled from a monarchical, but from a so-called 
republican government. They came from amongst a 
people who declared, as part of their creed, that all men 
were born free ; but who, while they did so, made slaves 
of every sixth man, woman and child, in the country. 
(Hear, hear.) He must not, however, forget that one of 
the purposes for which they were met that night was to 
commemorate the emancipation of their brothers and. 
sisters in the isles of the sea. That act of the British 
Parliament, and he might add in this case, with peculiar 
emphasis, of the British nation, passed on the twelfth 
day of August, 1833, to take effect on the first day of 
August, 1834, and which enfranchised eight hundred 
thousand Vv^est Indian slaves, was an event sublime in its 
nature, comprehensive and mighty in its immediate in- 
fluences and remote consequences, precious beyond ex- 
pression to the cause of freedom, and encouraging beyond 
the measure of any government on earth to the hearts 
of all enlightened and just men. This act was the result 
of a long course of philanthropic and Christian efforts on 
the part of some of the best men that the world ever pro- 
duced. It was not his intention to go into a discussion 
or a calculation of the rise and fall of property, or 


whether sugar was worth more or less by the act of 
emancipation. But the abolition of slavery in the West 
Indies was a blow struck in the right direction, at thut 
most inhuman of all traffics, the slave-trade — a trade 
which would never cease so long as slavery existed ; for 
where there was a market there would be merchandise ; 
where there was demand there would be a supply ; where 
there were carcasses there would be vultures; and they 
might as well attempt to turn the water, and make it 
run up the Niagara river, as to change this law. 

^^It was often said by the Americans that England 
was responsible for the existence of slavery there, be- 
cause it was introduced into that country while the colo- 
nies were under the British crown. If that were the 
case, they must come to the conclusion that, as England 
abolished slavery in the West Indies, she would have 
done the same for the American States if she had had the 
power to do it ; and if that was so, they might safely say 
that the separation of the United States from the mother 
country was (to say the least) a great misfortune to one 
sixth of the population of that land. England had set a 
noble example to America, and he would to heaven his 
countrymen would follow the example. The Americans 
boasted of their superior knowledge ; but they needed not 
to boast of their superior guilt, for that was set upon a 
hill-top, and that, too, so high, that it required not the 
lantern of Diogenes to find it out. Every breeze from 
the western world brought upon its wings the groans and 
cries of the victims of this guilt. Nearly all countries 


had fixed the seal of disapprobation on slavery ; and when, 
at some future age, this stain on the page of history 
shall be pointed at, posterity will blush at the discrepancy 
between American profession and American practice. 
What was to be thought of a people boasting of their 
liberty, their humanity, their Christianity, their love of 
justice, and at the same time keeping in slavery nearly 
four millions of God's children, and shutting out from 
them the light of the Gospel, by denying the Bible to 
the slave ! (Hear, hear.) No education, no marriage, 
everything done to keep the mind of the slave in dark- 
ness. There was a wish on the part of the people of the 
Northern States to shield themselves from the charge of 
slaveholding ; but, as they shared in the guilt, he was not 
satisfied with letting them off without their share in the 

'^^ And now a word about the Fugitive Slave Bill. 
That measure was in every respect an unconstitutional 
measure. It set aside the right formerly enjoyed by the 
fugitive of trial by jury ; it afibrded to him no protec- 
tion, no opportunity of proving his right to be free ; and 
it placed every free colored person at the mercy of any 
unprincipled individual who might wish to lay claim to 
him. (Hear.) That law is opposed to the principles 
of Christianity — foreign alike to the laws of God and 
man. It had converted the whole population of the Free 
States into a band of slave-catchers, and every rood of 
territory is but so much hunting-ground, over which 
they might chase the fugitive. But while they w^ere 


speaking of slavery in the United States, they must not 
omit to mention that there was a strong feeling in that 
land, not only against the Fugitive Slave Law, but also 
against the existence of slavery in any form. There 
was a band of fearless men and women in the United 
States, whose labors for the slave had resulted in good 
beyond calculation. This noble and heroic class had 
created an agitation in the w^hole country, until their 
principles have taken root in almost every association in 
the land, and which, with God's blessing, will, in due 
time, cause the Americans to put into practice what they 
have so long professed. (Hear, hear.) He wished it^o 
be continually held up before the country, that the 
Northern States are as deeply implicated in the guilt of 
slavery as the South. The North had a population of 
13,553,828 freemen; the South had a population of 
only 6,393,756 freemen; the North has 152 representa- 
tives in the House, the South only 81 ; and it would be^ 
seen by this that the balance of power was with the Free 
States. Looking, therefore, at the question in all its 
aspects, he was sure that there was no one in this coun- 
try but who would find out that the slavery of the 
United States of America was a system the most aban- 
doned and the most tyrannical (Hear, hear.)" 

At the close of this address, the Eev. Edward Mat- 
thews, from Bristol, but who had recently returned from 
the United States, where he had been maltreated on ac- 
count of his fidelity to the cause of freedom, was intro- 


ducedj and made a most interesting speech. The next 
speaker was George Thompson, Esq., M.P. ; and we 
need only say that his eloquence, which has seldom if 
ever been equalled, and never surpassed, exceeded, on this 
occasion, the most sanguine expectations of his friends. 
All who sat under the thundering anathemas which he 
hurled against slavery seemed instructed, delighted, and 
animated. Scarcely any one could have remained un- 
moved by the pensive sympathies that pervaded the entire 
assembly. There were many in the meeting who had 
never seen a fugitive slave before, and when any of the 
speakers would refer to those on the platform the whole 
audience seemed moved to tears. No meeting of the 
kind held in London for years created a greater sensa- 
tion than this gathering of refugees from the ^^ Land of 
the free, and the home of the brave.'' 

The Rev. J. Burns, D.D., next made an eloquent 
speech, and was followed by J. P. Edwards, Esq. 


** For 't is the mind that makes the body rich ; 
And as the sun breaks through the darkest clouds, 
So Honor peereth in the meanest habit.'* 


After strolling, for more than two hours, through the 
beautiful town of Lemington, in which I had that morn- 
ing arrived, a gentleman, to whom I had a letter of in- 
troduction, asked me if I was not going to visit Shaks- 
peare's House. It was only then that I called to mind 
the fact that I Avas within a few miles of the birthplace 
of the world's greatest literary genius. A horse and 
chaise was soon procured, and I on my way to Stratford. 
A quick and pleasant ride brought me to the banks of 
the Avon, and, a short time after, to the little but pic- 
turesque town of Stratford. I gave the horse in charge 
of the man-of- all- work at the inn, and then started for 
the much-talked-of and celebrated cottage. I found it 
to be a small, mean-looking house of wood and plaster, 
the walls of which are covered with names, inscriptions 
and hieroglyphics, in every language, by people of all 
nations, ranks and conditions, from the highest to the 


lowest, who have made their pilgrimage there. The old 
shattered and worn-out stock of the gun with which 
Shakspeare shot Sir Thomas Lucy's deer was shown to 
us. The old-fashioned tobacco-box was also there. The 
identical sword with which he played Hamlet, the lan- 
tern with which Romeo and Juliet were discovered, lay 
on the table. A plentiful supply of Shakspeare' s mul- 
berry-tree was there, and we were asked if we did not 
want to purchase ; but, fearing that it was not the genu- 
ine article, we declined. In one of the most gloomy and 
dilapidated rooms is the old chair in which the poet used 
to sit. After viewing everything of interest, and paying 
the elderly young woman (old maid) her accustomed fee, 
we left the poet's birthplace to visit his grave. We 
were soon standing in the chancel of the parish church, a 
large and venerable edifice, mouldering with age, but 
finely ornamented within, and the ivy clinging around 
without. It stands in a beautiful situation on the banks 
of the Avon. Garrick has most truthfully said : 

** Thou soft-flowing Ay on, by thy silver stream 
Of things more than mortal sweet Shakspeare would dream ;^' 
The fairies by moonlight dance round his green bed, 
For hallowed the turf is which pillowed his head." 

The picturesque little stream runs murmuring at the 
foot of the chureh-yard, disturbed only by the branches 
of the large el^^ t^at stand on the banks, and whose 
limbs droop dpwB. A fiat stone is the only thing that 
marks the place where the poet lies buried. I copied 



the following verse from the stone, and which is said to 
have been written by the bard himself: 

** Good friend, for Jesus' saKO, forbeare 
To dig the dust enclosed here : 
Blessed be he that spares these stones, 
And cursed be he that moves my bones." 

Above the grave, in a niche in the w^all, is a bust of 
the poet, placed there not long after his death, and which 
is supposed to bear some resemblance. Shakspeare's 
wife and daughter lie near him. After beholding every- 
thing of any possible interest, we stepped into our chaise 
and were soon again in Lemington ; which, by the by, is 
the most beautiful town in all Great Britain, not except- 
ing Cheltenham. In the evening I returned to Coven- 
try, and was partaking of the hospitality of my excellent 
friend, Joseph Cash, Esq., of Sherburne House, and had 
stretched myself out on a sofa, with Carlyle's Life of 
Stirling in my hands, when I was informed that the 
younger members of the family were preparing to attend 
a lecture at the Mechanics' Institution. I did not feel 
inclined to stir from my easy position, after the fatigues 
of the day ; but, learniDg that the lecturer was George 
Dawson, Esq., I resolved to join the company. 

The hall was nearly filled when we reached it, which 
was only a few minutes before the commencement of the 
lecture. The stamping of feet and clapping of hands 
— which is the best evidence of an Englishman's impa- 
tience — brought before us a thin-faced, spare-made, 


wiry-looking man, with rather a dark complexion for an 
Englishman, but with prepossessing features. I must 
confess that I entered the room with some little preju- 
dice against the speaker, caused by an unfavorable crit- 
icism from the pen of George Gilfillan, the essayist. 
However, I was happily disappointed. His style is 
witty, keen and gentle, vfith the language of the draw- 
ing-room. His smiling countenance, piercing glance 
and musical voice, captivated his audience. Mr. Daw- 
son's subject was ^'The Rise and Spread of the Anglo- 
Saxon Race,'' and he showed that he understood his task. 
During his discourse he said : 

^^ The Greeks and Romans sent out colonies ; but no 
nation but England ever before gave a nation birth. The 
Americans are a nation, with no language, no creed, no 
grave-yards. Their names are a derivation ; and it is 
laughable to see the pains an American takes to appear 
national. He will soon explain to you that he is not an 
Englishman, but a free-born citizen of the U-nited 
States, with a pretty considerable contempt for them 
British-ers. These notions make an Englishman smile ; 
the Americans are a nation without being a nation ; they 
are impressed with an idea that they have characteristics, 
— they are odd, not national, and remind one of a long, 
slender youth, somewhat sallow, who has just had a new 
watch, consequently blasphemes the old one ; and as for 
the watch his father used, what is it ? — a turnip ; by 
this means he assumes the independent. The American 
is independent ; he flaunts it in your face, and surprises 


you with his galvanic attempts at showing off his nation- 
ality. They have, in fact, no literature ; we don't want 
them to have any, as long as they can draw from the old 
country ; the feeling is kindly, and should be cherished ; 
it is like the boy at Christmas coming home to spend the 
holidaj^s. Long may they draw inspiration from Shaks- 
peare and Milton, and come again and again to the old 
well. Walking down Broadway is like looking at a 
page of the Polyglot Bible. America was founded in a 
great thought, peopled through liberty; and long may 
that country be the noblest thing that England has to 
boast of 

'^ Some people think that we, as a nation, are going 
down ; that we have passed the millennium ; but there is 
no reason yet. We have work to do, — gold mines to dig, 
railways to construct, &c. &c. When all the work is 
done, then, and not till then, will the Saxon folk have 
finished their destiny. We have continents to fill yet : 
our work is not done till Europe is free. When Emer- 
son visited us, he said that England was not an old coun- 
try, but had the two-fold character of youth and age ; 
he saw new cities, new docks ; a good day's work yet to 
be done, and many vast undertakings only just begun. 
The coal, the iron and the gold, are ours ; we have noble 
days in store, but we must labor more than we have yet 
done. Talk of going down ! — we have hardly arrived at 
our meridian. We have our faults ; any Frenchman or 
German may point them out. We have our duties, and 
often waste our precious moments by indulging in one 


eternal grumble at what we do, compared to w^hat we 
ought to do. A little praise is good sometimes, — we 
walk the taller for it, and work the better. Only as 
we know our work here, and do it as our fathers did, 
shall we promote good ; working heartily, and not fal- 
tering until the object is gained. The more we add to 
the happiness of a people, the more we shall be worthy 
of the good gifts of God." 

As an orator, Mr. Dawson stands deservedly high ; 
and was on several occasions applauded to the echo. He 
was educated for the ministry in the Orthodox persuasion, 
but left it and became a Unitarian, and has since gone a 
step further. Mr. Dawson resides in Birmingham, 
where he has a fine chapel, and a most intellectual con- 
gregation, and is considered the Theodore Parker of 

It is indeed strange, the impression which a mind 
well cultivated can make upon those about it ; and in 
this we see more clearly the need of education. In what- 
ever light we view education, it cannot fail to appear the 
most important subject that can engage the attention of 
mankind. When we contrast the ignorance, the rude- 
ness and the helplessness of the savage, with the knowl- 
edge, the refinement and the resources of civilized man, 
the difference between them appears so wide, that they 
can scarcely be regarded as of the same species ; yet 
compare the infant of the savage with that of the edu- 
cated and enlightened philosopher, and you will find them 
in all respects the same. The same high^ capacious 


powers of the mind lie folded up in both, and in both the 
organs of sensation adapted to these mental powers are 
exactly similar. All the difference which is afterwards 
to distinguish them depends entirely upon their educa- 
tion, energy and self-culture. 


** Proud pile ! tliat rearest thy hoary head. 
In ruin vast, in silence dread. 

O'er Teme's luxuriant vale, 
Thy moss-grown halls, thy precincts drear, 
To' musing Fancy's pensive ear 

Unfold a varied tale." 

It was in the latter part of Decemberj and on one of 
the coldest nights that I have experienced, that I found 
myself seated before the fire, and alone, in the principal 
hotel in the town of Ludlow, and within a few minutes' 
walk of the famous old castle from which the town de- 
rives its name. A ride of one hundred and fifty miles 
by rail, in such uncomfortable carriages as no country 
except Great Britain furnishes for the weary traveller, 
and twenty miles on the top of a coach, in a drenching 
rain, caused me to remain by the fire's side to a later 
hour than I otherwise would have done. ^' Did you 
rin^, sir?" asked the waiter, as the clock struck twelve. 
'• No," I replied; but I felt that this was the servant's 
mode of informing me that it was time for me to retire 
to bed, and consequently I asked for a candle, and was 


shown to my chamber, and was soon in bed. From the 
weiirht of the coverin^z: on the bed, I felt sure that the 
extra blanket which I had requested to be put on w^as 
there ; yet I was shivering with cold. As the sheets 
began to get warm, I discovered, to my astonishment, 
that they were damp ; indeed, wet. My first thought 
was to ring the bell for the chambermaid, and have them 
changed ; but, after a moment's consideration, I resolved 
to adopt a diiferent course. I got out of bed, pulled the 
sheets off, rolled them up, raised the window, and threw 
them into the street. After disposing of the wet sheets, 
I returned to bed and got in between the blankets, and 
lay there trembling with cold till Morpheus came to 
my relief. The next morning I said nothing about the 
uncomfortable night I had experienced, and determined 
to leave it until they discovered the loss of the sheets. 
As soon as I had breakfasted, I went out to view the 
castle. For many years this was one of the strongest 
baronial fortifications in England. It was from Ludlow 
Castle that Edward, Prince of Wales, and his brother, 
were taken to London and put to death in the Tower, by 
order of their uncle, Richard III., before that villain 
seized upon the crown. The family of Mortimer for cen- 
turies held the castle, and, consequently, ruled Hereford- 
shire. The castle rises from the point of a headland, and 
its foundations are ingrafted into a bare gray rock. The 
front consists of square towers, with high connecting 
walls. The castle is a complete ruin, and has been for 
centuries ; large trees are still growing in the midst of 


the old pile, which give it a picturesque appearance. It 
was here that the exquisite eifusion of the youthful 
genius of Milton — The Masque of Comus — was com- 
posed, and performed before His Majesty Charles I., in 
1681. Little did the king think that the poet would one 
day be secretary to the man who should put him to 
death and rule his kino;dom. Althouo;h a ruin, this fact 
is enough to excite interest, and to cause one to venerate 
the old building, and to do homage to the memory of 
the divine poet who hallowed it with his immortal 
strains. From a visitor's book that is kept at the gate- 
house, I copied the following verses : 

y - 

" Here Milton sung ; what needs a greater spell 

To lure thee, stranger, to these far-famed walls ? 
Though chroniclers of other ages tell 

That princes oft -have graced fair Ludlow's halls. 
Their honors glide along oblivion's stream, 

And o'er the wreck a tide of ruin drives ; 
Faint and more faint the rays of glory beam 

That gild their course — the bard alone survives. 
And, when the rude, unceasing shocks of Time 

In one vast heap shall whelm this lofty pile, 
Still shall his genius, towering and sublime, 

Triumphant o'er the spoils of grandeur smile ; 
Still in these haunts, true to a nation's tongue. 
Echo shall love to dwell, and say. Here Milton sang." 

I lingered long in the room pointed out to me as the 
one in which Milton wrote his ^' Comus." The castle was 
not only visited by the author of ''Paradise Lost," but 
here, amidst the noise and bustle of civil dissensions, 


Samuel Butler, the satirical author of ^^Hudibras," found 
an asylum. The part of the tower in which it is said he 
composed his ^^Hudibras" was shown to us. In looking 
over the different apartments, we passed through a cell 
with only one small window through which the light 
found its way. On a stone, chiselled with great beauty, 
was a figure in a weeping position, and underneath it 
some one had written with pencil, in a legible hand : 

*' The Muse, too, weeps ; in hallowed hour 
Here sacred Milton owned her power, 
And woke to nobler song." 

The weather was exceedingly cold, and made more so 
by the stone walls partly covered with snow and frost 
around us ; and I returned to the inn. It being near 
the time for me to leave by the coach for Hereford, I 
called for my bill. The servant went out of the room ; 
but soon returned, and began stirring up the fire with 
the poker. I again told him that the coach would shortly 
be up, and that I wanted my bill. ^^ Yes, sir, in a mo- 
ment," he replied, and left in haste. Ten or fifteen 
minutes passed away, and the servant once more came 
in, walked to the whidow, pulled up the blinds, and then 
went out. I saw that something was in the wind ; and it 
occurred to me that they had discovered the loss of the 
sheets. The waiter soon returned again, and, in rather 
an agitated manner, said, ^'Ibeg your pardon, sir, but 
the landlady is in the hall, and would like to speak to 
you." Out I went, and found the finest specimen of an 


English landlady that I had seen for many a day. There 
she stood, nearly as thick as she was high, with a red 
face, garnished around with curls, that seemed to say, 
^' I have just been brushed and oiled.'' A neat apron 
covered a black alpacca dress that swept the ground with 
modesty, and a bunch of keys hung at her side. 0, 
that smile ! such a smile as none but a woman who had 
often been before a mirror could put on. However, I 
had studied human nature too successfully not to know 
that thunder and liglitning were concealed under that 
smile ; and I nerved myself up for the occasion. " I am 
sorry to have to name it, sir," said she, "but the sheets 
are missing off your bed." "0, yes," I replied; " I took 
them off last night." " Indeed ! " exclaimed she ; " and 
pray what have you done with them ? " "I threw them 
out of the window," said I. " What ! into the street? " 
^^ Yes, into the street," I said. " What did you do that 
for '? " ".They were wet ; and I was afraid that if I left 
them in the room they would be put on at night, and 
give somebody else a cold." And here I coughed with 
all my might, to remind her that I had suffered from the 
neo!;lio:ence of her chambermaid. The heavino; of the 
chest and panting for breath which the lady was expe- 
riencing at this juncture told me plainly that an explo- 
sion was at hand; and the piercing glance of those 
wicked-looking black eyes, and the rapid changes that 
came over that never-to-be-forgotten face, were enough to 
cause the most love-sick man in the world to give up all 
ideas of matrimony, and to be contented with being his 


own master. ^'Then, sir," said the landlady, ^^you will 
have to pay for the sheets." ^' 0, yes,'' replied I; ''I 
will pay for them ; put them in the bill, and I will send 
the bill to The Ttmes^ and have it published, and let 
the travelling public know how much you charge for wet 
sheets! " and I turned upon mj heel and walked into the 

A few minutes after, the servant came in and laid 
before me the bill. I looked, but in vain, to see how 
much I had been charged for my hasty indiscretion the 
previous night. No mention was made of the sheets ; 
and I paid the bill as it stood. The blowing of the coach- 
man's horn w^arned me that I must get ready ; and I put 
on my top coat. As I w^as passing through the ball, 
there stood the landlady just where I had left her, look- 
ing as if she had not stirred a single peg. And that 
smile, that had often cheered or carried consternation to 
many a poor heart, was still to be seen. I would rather 
have gone without my dinner than to have looked her in 
the face, such is my timidity. But common courtesy 
demanded that I should at least nod as I passed by; and 
therefore I was thrown back upon my manners, and un- 
consciously found myself giving her one of my best bows. 
Whether this bow was the result of my early training 
while in slavery, the domestic discipline that I afterwards 
experienced in freedom, or the terror with which every 
nerve was shaken on first meeting the landlady, I am 
still unaware. However, the bow was made and the ice 
broken, and the landlady smilingly said, /* You do not 


know, sir, how much I am grieved at your being put to 
so much trouble last night, with those wet sheets ; it was 
all the fault of the chambermaid, and I have given her 
warning, and shall dismiss her a month from to-day. 
And I do hope, sir, that if you should ever mention this 
circumstance you will not name the house in which it 
occurred." How could I do otherwise than to acquiesce 
in her wishes? Yes, I promised that I would never 
name the inn at which I had caught the rheumatism; 
and, therefore, reader, you may ask me, but in vain, — I 
will not tell you. One more bow, and out I went, and 
mounted the coach. As the driver was pulling up his 
reins, and raising his whip in the air, I turned to take a 
farewell glance of the inn, when, to my surprise, I be- 
held the landlady at the door with a white handkerchief 
in her hand, and a countenance beaming with smiles that 
I still see in my mind's eye. I raised my hat, she nod- 
ded, and away went the coach. Although the ride was 
a cold and dreary one, I often caught myself smiling 
over the fright in which I had put the landlady by 
threatening to publish her house. 

After a fatiguing stage twenty miles or more, over a 
bad road, we reached Hereford, a small city, situated in 
^ fertile plain, bounded on all sides with orchards, and 
watered by the translucent Wye. I spent the greater 
part of the next day in seeing the lions of the little city. 
I first visited, what most strangers do, the cathedral ; a 
building partly Gothic and partly Saxon in its archi- 
teet^re^ tW interiQr of which is handsome, and contains 


an excellent organ, a piece of furniture that often calls 
more hearers to a place of worship than the preacher. 
In passing through the cathedral I stood a moment or 
two over the grave of the poet Phillips, the author of 
the ^'Splendid Shilling," ''Cider," etc. While in the 
library the verger showed me a manuscript Bible of 
WicklifFe's, the first in use, written on vellum in the 
old black letter, full of abbreviations. He also pointed 
out some Latin manuscripts, in various parts beauti- 
fully illuminated with most ingenious penmanship, the 
coloring of the figures very bright. After all, there is 
a degree of pleasure in handling these old and laid-aside 
books. Hereford is noted for having been the birth- 
place of several distinguished persons. I was shown the 
house in which David Garrick was born. From Here- 
ford he was removed to Litchfield and became the pupil 
of Dr. Johnson, and eventually both m.aster and pupil 
went to London in search of bread ; one became famous 
as an actor, the other noted as surly Sam Johnson. 
An obscure cottage in Pipe-lane was pointed out as the 
birthplace of the celebrated Nell Gwynne, Vyho first ap- 
peared in London in the pit of Drury-la^ne Theatre as an 
apple-girl, and afterwards became an actress, in which 
position she was seen by King Charles H., who took her 
to his bed and board, and created her Duchess of St. 
Albans. However, she had many crooked paths to tread, 
after becoming an actress, before she captivated the 
heart of the Merry Monarch. The following story of 


her life, told by herself, is too good to be lost ; so I insert 
it here. 

'' When I was a poor girl," said the Duchess of St. 
Albans, '' working very hard for my thirty shillings a 
week, I went down to Liverpool during the holidays, 
w4iere I was always well received. I was to perform in 
a new piece, something like those pretty little affecting- 
dramas they get up now at our minor theatres ; and in 
my character I represented a poor, friendless orphan- 
girl, reduced to the most wretched poverty. A heartless 
tradesman prosecutes the sad heroine for a heavy debt, 
and insists on putting her in prison, unless some one will 
be bail for her. The girl replies, ^ Then I have no hope ; 
I have not a friend in the world.' ^ What ! will no one 
be bail for you, to save you from going to prison ? ' asks 
the stern creditor. ' I have told you I have not a friend 
on earth,' was the reply. But just as I was uttering 
the words, I saw a sailor in the upper gallery springing 
over the railing, letting himself down. from one tier to 
another, until he bounded clear over the orchestra and 
footlights, and placed himself beside me in a moment. 
^ Yes, you shall have one friend at least, my poor young 
woman,' said he, with the greatest expression in his 
honest, sunburnt countenance ; ^ I will go bail for you to 
any amount. And as for you^^ turning to the fright- 
ened actor, ' if you don't bear a hand and shift your 
moorings, you lubber, it will be worse for you when 
I come athwart your bows ! ' Every creature in the 
house rose ; the uproar was indescribable — peals of 


laughter, screams of terror, cheers from his tawny mess- 
mates in the gallery, preparatory scrapings of violins 
from the orchestra ; and, amidst the universal din, there 
stood the unconscious cause of it, sheltering me, ' the 
poor, distressed young woman,' and breathing defiance 
and destruction against my mimic persecutor. He was 
only persuaded to relinquish his care of me, by the man- 
ager pretending to arrive and rescue me, with a pro- 
fusion of theatrical bank-notes." 

Hereford was also the birthplace of Mrs. Siddons, the 
unequalled tragic actress. The views around Hereford 
are very sylvan, and from some points, where the Welsh 
mountains are discernible, present something of the mag- 
nificent. All this part of the country still shows unmis- 
takable evidence that war has had its day here. In those 
times the arts and education received no encouragement. 
The destructive exploits of conquerors may dazzle for a 
w^hile, but the silent labors of the student and the artist, 
of the architect and the husbandman, which embellish 
the earth, and convert it into a terrestrial paradise^ 
although they do not shine with so conspicuous a glare, 
diversify the picture with milder colors and more beau- 
tiful shades. 


** To him no autlior was unknown, 
Yet what he writ was all his own ; 
Horace's wit, and Virgil's state, 
He did not steal, but emulate ; 
And when he would like them appear. 
Their form, but not their clothes, did wear." 


If there be an individual living who has read the 
^' Essay on Man/' or '^ The Rape of the Lock," without 
a wish to become more acquainted with the writings of 
the gifted poet that penned those exquisite poems, I con- 
fess that such an one is made of different materials from 

It is possible that I am too great a devotee to authors, 
and especially poets ; yet such is my reverence for de- 
parted writers, that I would rather walk five miles to see 
a poet's grave than to spend an evening at the finest 
entertainment that could be got up. 

It was on a pleasant afternoon in September, that I 

had gone into Surrey to dine with Lord C , that I 

found myself one of a party of nine, and seated at a table 


loaded with everything that the heart could wish. Four 
inen-servantSj in livery, with white gloves, waited upon 
the company. 

After the different courses had been changed, the wine 
occupied the most conspicuous place on the table, and all 
seemed to drink with a relish unappreciated except by 
those who move in the higher walks of life. My glass 
was the only one on the table in which the juice of the 
grape had not been poured. It takes more nerve than 
most men possess to cause one to decline taking a glass 
of wine with a lady ; and in English society they don't 
appear to understand how human beings can live and 
enjoy health without taking at least a little wine. By 
my continued refusal to drink with first one and then 
another of the company, I had become rather an object 
of pity than otherwise. 

A lady of the party, and in company with whom I had 
dined on a previous occasion, and who knew me to be an 
abstainer, resolved to relieve me from the awkward 
position in which my principles had placed me, and 
therefore caused a decanter of raspberry vinegar to 
be adulterated and brought on the table. A note in 
pencil from the lady informed me of the contents of the 
new bottle. I am partial to this kind of beverage, and 
felt glad when it made its appearance. No one of the 
party, except the lady, knew of the fraud ; and I was 
able, during the remainder of the time, to drink with any 
of the company. The waiters, as a matter of course^ 
were in the secret ; for they had to make the change 


while passing the wine from me to the person with whom 
I drank. 

After a while, as is usual, the ladies all rose and left 
the room. The retiring of the fair sex left the gentle- 
men in a more free-and-easy position, and consequently 
the topics of conversation were materially changed, but 
not for the better. The presence of women is always a 
restraint in the right direction. An hour after the ladies 
had gone, the gentlemen were requested to retire to the 
drawing-room, where we found tea ready to be served 
up. I was glad when the time came to leave the dining- 
room, for I felt it a great bore to be compelled to remain 
at the table three hours. Tea over, the wine again 
brought on, and the company took a stroll through the 
grounds at the back of the villa. It was a bright moon- 
light night, and the stars were out, and the air came 
laden with the perfume of sweet flowers, and there were 
no sounds to be heard, except th^ musical splashing of 
the little cascade at the end of the garden, and the song 
of the nightingale, that seemed to be in one of the trees 
near by. How pleasant everything looked, with the 
flowers creeping about the summer-house, and the win- 
dows opening to the velvet lawn, with its modest front, 
neat trellis-work, and meandering vine ! The small smooth 
fish-pond, and the life-like statues standing or kneeling 
in difierent parts of the grounds, gave it the appearance 
of a very paradise. 

^^ There,'' said his lordship, ^4s where Cowley used to 
sit, under that tree, and read.'' 


This reminded me that I was near Chertsey, where 
the poet spent his last days; and, as I was invited to 
spend the night within a short ride of that place, I re- 
solved to visit it the next day. We returned to the 
drawing-room, and a few moments after the party sepa- 
rated, at ten o'clock. 

After breakfast the following morning, I drove over to 
Chertsey, a pretty little town, with but two streets of any 
note. In the principal street, and not far from the rail- 
way station, stands a low building of wood and plaster, 
known as the Porch House. It was in this cottage that 
Abraham Cowley, the poet, resided, and died in 1667, in 
the forty-ninth year of his age. It being the residence 
of a gentleman who was from home, I did not have an 
opportunity of seeing the interior of the building, which 
I much regretted. Having visited Cowley's house, I at 
once determined to do what I had long promised myself; n 
that was, to see Pope's villa, at Twickenham; and I re- 
turned to London, took the Richmond boat, and was soon 
gliding up the Thames. 

I have seldom had a pleasanter ride by water than 
from London Bridge to Richmond ; the beautiful pano- 
ramic view which unfolds itself on either side of the 
river can scarcely be surpassed by the scenery in any 
country. In the centre of Twickenham stands the house 
made celebrated from its having been the residence of 
Alexander Pope. The house is not large, but occupies a 
beautiful site, and is to be seen to best advantage from 
the river. The garden and grounds have undergone 


some change since the death of the poet. The grotto 
leading from the villa to the Thames is in a sad con- 

The following lines, written by Pope soon after finish- 
ing this idol of his fancy, show in what estimate he held 
itj and should at least have preserved it from decay : 

*' Thou wlio shalt stop wliere Thames^ translucent wave 
SMnes a broad mirror througli the shadowy cave ; 
Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distill. 
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill ; 
Unpolished gems no ray on pride bestow. 
And latent metals innocently glow — 
Approach ! Great nature studiously behold ! 
And eye the mine without a wish for gold. 
Approach — but awful ! Lo ! the ^gerian grot. 
Where, nobly pensive, St. John sate and thought ; 
Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole. 
And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's soul. 
Let such — such only — tread this sacred floor, 
Who dare to love their country and be poor." 

It is strange that there are some at the present day 
who deny that Pope was a poet ; but it seems to me that 
such either show a want of appreciation of poetry, or 
themselves no judge of what constitutes poetry. Where 
can be found a finer efi'usion than the ^^ Essay on Man"? 
Johnson, in his admirable Life of Pope, in drawing a 
comparison between him and Dryden, says, ^'If the 
flights of Dryden are higher, Pope continues longer on 
the wing ; if of Dry den's fire the blaze is brighter, of 
Pope is the heat more regular and constant. Dryden 


often surpasses expectation, and Pope never falls below 
it ; Dry den is read with frequent astonishment, and Pope 
with perpetual delight." In speaking of the ^' Kape of 
the Lock/' the same great critic remarks that it -^ stands 
forward in the classes of literature, as the most exquisite 
example of ludicrous poetry." Another poet and critic 
of no mean authority calls him '• The sweetest and most 
elegant of English poets, the severest chastiser of vice, 
and the most persuasive teacher of wisdom.-" Lord 
Byron terms him ^'the most perfect and harmonious of 
poets." How many have quoted the following lines 
without knowing that they were Pope's ! 

" To look tlirough Nature up to Nature's God." 
** An honest man 's the noblest work of God." 
" Just as the twig is bent, the tree 's inclined," 
" If to her share some female errors fall. 

Look on her face, and you '11 forget them all." 
" For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, 

His can't be wrong whose life is in the right." 

Pope was certainly the most independent writer of his 
time ; a poet who never sold himself, and never lent his 
pen to the upholding of wrong. And although a severe 
critic, the following verse will show that he did not wish 
to bestow his chastisement in a wrong direction : 

'' Curst be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, 
That tends to make one honest man my foe, 
Give Virtue scandal. Innocence a fear. 
Or from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tear ! " 



No poet's pen was ever more thoroughly used to sup- 
press vice than Pope's; and what he did was done con- 
scientiously, as the following lines will show : 

** Ask yon what provocation I liaye had ? 
The strong antipathy of good to bad. 
When Truth or Virtue an affront endures, 
The affront is mine, my friend, and should be yours.'* 

Pope is not only a poet of a high order, but as yet he 
is the unsurpassed translator of Homer. 

My visit to Pope's villa wa^ a short one, but it was 
attended with many pleasing incidents. I have derived 
much pleasure from reading his Iliad and other transla- 
tions. The verse from the pen of Lord Denham, that 
heads this chapter, conveys but a faint idea of my esti- 
mate of Pope's genius and talents. 


** This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, 
May truly say, here lies an honest man : 
A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, 
Whom heaven kept sacred from the prond and great." 


While on a recent visit to Dumfries, I lodged in the 
same house with Robert Burns, the eldest son of the 
Scottish bard, who is now about sixty-five years old. I also 
visited the grave of the poet, which is in the church-yard 
at the lower end of the town. A few days afterwards I 
arrived at Ayr, and being within three miles of the birth- 
place of Burns, and having so lately stood over his grave, 
I felt no little interest in seeing the cottage in which he 
was born, and the monument erected to his memory ; and 
therefore, after inquiring the road, I started on my pil- 
grimage. In going up the High Street, we passed the 
Wallace Towner, a Gothic building, with a statue of the 
renowned chief, cut by Thorn, the famed sculptor of 
^'Tam O'Shanter and Souter Johnny," occupying the 
highest niche. The Scottish hero is represented not in 
warlike attitude, but in a thoughtful mood, as if musing 
over the wrongs of his country. We were soon out of 


the town, and on the high road to the ^' Land of Burns.*' 
On the west side of the road, and about two miles from 
Ayr, stands the cottage in which the poet was born ; it 
is now used as an ale-house or inn. This cottage was 
no doubt the fancied scene of that splendid poem, '^ The 
Cottar's Saturday Night." A little further on, and we 
were near the old kirk, in the yard of which is the grave 
of Burns' father, marked by a plain tombstone, on which 
is engraved the following epitaph, from the pen of the 
poet : 

*' ye whose clieek the tear of pity stains, 

Draw near with pious reverence and attend : 
Here lie the loTing husband's dear remains, 

The tender father, and the generous friend. 
The pitying heart that felt for human woe. 

The dauntless heart that feared no human pride, 
The friend of man — to rice alone a foe ; 
* For e'en his failings leant to Virtue's side.' " 

A short distance beyond the church, we caught a sight 
of the '• Auld Brig '* crossing the Boon's classic stream, 
along which Tam O'Shanter was pursued by the witches, 
his '• Gray Mare Meg" losing her tail in the struggle 
on the keystone. On the banks of the Boon stands the 
beautiful monument, surrounded by a little plat of 
ground very tastefully laid out. The edifice is of the 
composite order, blending the finest models of Grecian 
and Roman architecture. It is about sixty feet high ; on 
the ground floor there is a circular room lighted by a 
cupola of stained glass, in the centre of which stands a 


table with relics, and editions of Burns' writings. 
Amongst these relics is the Bible given by the poet to 
his Highland Mary. It is bound in two volumes, which 
are enclosed in a neat oaken box with a glass lid. In 
both volumes is written ^^ Robert Burns, Mossgiel," in 
the bard's own hand- writing. In the same room are the 
original far-famed figures of ^^ Tarn O'Shanter and 
Souter Johnny," chiselled out of solid blocks of free- 
stone, by the self-taught sculptor, Thorn. No one can 
look at these statues without feeling that the poet has 
not more graphically described than the sculptor has 
delineated the jolly couple. Immediately on the banks 
of the river stands the Shell Palace. This most beauti- 
ful of little edifices is scarcely less to be admired than 
the monument itself. 

Like its great prototype, the Shell Palace, to be judged 
of, must be seen. It is not easy to describe even this 
miniature. Lying in the heart of the Monument scenery, 
it forms a fitting spot for something dazzlingly beauti- 
ful ; and it realizes the aspiration. It is a palace of 
which rare and beautiful shells, gathered in many climes, 
form the entire surface, internal and external. The 
erection is twenty feet long, by fourteen and a half feet 
broad, and fourteen feet high in the roof. It is in form 
an irregular or oblong octagon — the two sides long, and 
the three sections at each end, of course, narrow, thus 
giving, by the cross reflections of no iewer than nine- 
teen mirrors, an infinite multiplicity of its internal 
treasures. Of these the shells are the leading feature, 


and many thousands of the rarest sorts go to make 
up this conchological wonder. The floor is covered 
with a very rich carpet, and rugs to match front two 
unique dwarf grates. The seats, set on imitatipn granite 
props, are covered with rich crimson velvet. Opposite 
the stained-glass entrance-door, in a recess, is a beau- 
tiful fountain, surrounded by large ornamental shells, 
playing from a delightful spring, the jet rising from a 
rich green vase, in tasteful contrast with the ' ^ winking 
gold-fish," now sporting and now lazily floating round its 
base. The side walls are inlaid in the most regular and 
artistic manner with shells, which vary in size, the roof 
being studded with large ornamental shells, the upward 
unseen points of which, being bored, act as ventilators, 
while in the centre of the roof some of the very choicest 
middle-sized shells are grouped together in the form of 
flowers, with a very rich and beautiful effect, seldom at- 
tained in the choicest bouquets. With so much, of the 
beautiful so very attractively arranged, the mirrors work 
wonders. The large mirrors at either end show a line 
of table as far as the eye can carry, and multiply the 
visitors accordingly — green vases and golden fish pre- 
senting themselves anew at every turn. The Doon ran 
silently past as we entered; but here it meanders round 
us on every side, and our fairy palace seems the centre 
of some enchanted island. It is, indeed, a beautiful 
grotto, and all who have not seen it will, we dare say, 
on visiting it, not begrudge it the title of the ^^ Shell 


We next visited Newark Castle, about a mile from the 
monument. It is remarkable for its antiquity, and for 
the splendid vieAV obtained from the balcony on its sum- 
mit. While standing on this celebrated spot, we saw at 
one glance the Frith of Clyde and Bay of Ayr; in 
the immediate foreground the cradle-land of Burns, and 
the winding Doon ; and in the distance the eye wanders 
over a vast tract of richly- wooded country, embracing a 
panoramic view of portions of at least seven counties, 
and the much-admired and celebrated rock, Ailsacraig, 
While in the neighborhood, we could not forego the 
temptation which presented itself of visiting the scene of 
Burns' tender parting with Mary Campbell. It is near 
the junction of the water of Fail with the river Ayr, 
where the poet met his Mary on a Sunday in the month 
of May, and, laying their hands in the stream, vowed, 
over Mary's Bible, love while the woods of Montgomery 
grew and its waters ran. The death of the girl before 
the appointed time of marriage caused the composition of 
the following poem, one of Burns' sweetest pieces. 


** Ye banks, and braes, and streams around 

The castle o' Montgomery, 
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, 

Your waters never drumlie ! 
There Simmer first unfaulds her robes, 

And there they langest tarry ; 
For there I took the last fareweel 

0' my sweet Highland Mary. 


* How sweetly bloomed tlie gay green birk. 

How rich the hawthorn's blossom. 
As underneath their fragrant shade 

I clasped her to my bosom ! 
The golden hours, on angel wings, 

Flew o'er me and my dearie : 
For dear to me as light and life 

Was my sweet Highland Mary. 

<« Wi' mony a yow, and locked embrace, 

Our parting was fu' tender ; 
And, pledging aft to meet again. 

We tore oursels asunder ; 
But, ! fell Death's untimely frost. 

That nipt my flower sae early ! 
Now green 's the sod, and cauld 's the clay. 

That wraps my Highland Mary ! 

" pale, pale now, those rosy lips, 

I aft hae kissed sae fondly ! 
And closed for aye the sparkling glance 

That dwalt on me sae kindly ! 
And mouldering now in silent dust 

That heart that lo'ed me dearly ! 
But still within my bosom's core 

Shall live my Highland Mary." 

It was indeed pleasant to walk over the ground once 
pressed by the feet of the Scottish bard, and to look 
upon the scenes that inspired his youthful breast, and 
gave animation to that blaze of genius that burst upon 
the world. The classic Doon, the ruins of the old kirk 
AUoway, the cottage in which the poet first drew breath, 
and other places made celebrated by his pen, all filled us 
with .a degree of enthusiasm we h^ve seldom experienced. 


In every region where the English language is known 
the songs of Burns give rapture ; and from every land, 
and from climes the most remote, comes the praise of 
Burns as a poet. In song- writing he surpassed Sir 
Walter Scott and Lord Byron ; for in that department 
he was above ^-all Greek, above all Eomanfame;" a 
more than Simonides in pathos, as in his ^^ Highland 
Mary ; " a more than Tyrtaeus in fire, as in his '^ Scots 
wha ha'e wi' Wallace bled ; " and a softer than Sappho 
in love, as in his — 

" Had we never loved so kindly, 
Had we never loved so blindly. 
Never met or never parted, 
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.*' 



'* If thou art worn and hard beset 
With sorrows, that thou wouldst forget ; 
If thou wouldst read a lesson, that would keep 
Thy heart from fainting and thy soul from sleep, — 
Go to the Colosseum." Longfellow. 

It was in the middle of May, when London is usually 
inundated with strangers from the country, who come up 
to attend the anniyersaries, that a party of friends called 
on me with a request that I would accompany them to 
some of the lions of the metropolis. We started for 
the Thames Tunnel, one of the wonders of London. The 
idea of making a thoroughfare under the largest river in 
England was a project that could scarcely have been 
carried out by any except a most enterprising people. 
We faintly heard the clock on St. Paul's striking eleven, 
as the Woolwich boat put us down at the Tunnel ; which 
we entered, after paying the admission fee of one penny. 
After descending one hundred steps, we found ourselves 
under the river, and looking towards the faint glimmer 
of light that showed itself on the Surrey side. There 
are two arches, one of which is closed up, with here and 


there a stall, loaded with old maps, books, and views of 
the Tunnel. Lamps, some six or eight yards apart, 
light up the otherwise dark and dismal place. Signs of 
frequent repairs show that they must ever be on the 
watch to keep the water out. An hour spent in the 
Tunnel satisfied us all, and we left in the direction of the 
Tower, a description of which will be found in another 
chapter. Some of our party seemed bent on going next 
to the Colosseum, and to the Colosseum we went. On 
arriving at the doors, and entering a long, capacious pas- 
sage, our eyes became quite dazzled by the gleams of 
colored light which shone upon them, both directly and 
reflectedly. The efiect was heightened by the beautiful 
designs which figured on the walls, and by the graceful 
forms of the many statues which lined the path. In fact, 
the strength of the sense of sight became much greater, 
because the ear, which, all the day before, had listened to 
the busy hum of bustle and activity, now ceased to hear 
aught but a silent whisper or a wondering ^' 0,'^ — no 
echo had even the foot-fall from the luxuriant softness of 
the carpeting. 

Following up this fairy viaduct, we merged into a spa- 
cious circularly-formed apartment, on the downy couches 
of which reclined many an enraptured group; while 
nimble fingers and enticing lips caused sweet harmonious 
strains to chase each other from niche to niche, and 
among marbled figures within that charming temple. 

Ascending a narrow flight of stairs, we landed on a 
balcony, from which we viewed the principal spectacle 


exhibited — and, 0, it -was a grand one ! We found our- 
selves, as it were, upon the summit of some high building 
in the centre of the French metropolis, and there, all 
brilliant with gas-lights, and favored by tlie shining 
moon, Paris lay spread far out beneath us, though the 
canvas on which the scene was painted was but half a 
dozen feet from where we gazed in wonder. The moon 
herself seemed actually in the heavens. Nay, bets were 
laid that she had risen since we entered. Nothing can 
surpass the uniformity of appearance which every spire, 
and house, and wood, and river — yea, which every 
shop-window, ornamented, presented. All seemed natural, 
from the twinkling of the stars above us, to the monkey 
of the organ-man in the market-place below. Reader, if 
ever thou hast occasion to go to London, leave it not till 
thou hast seen the Colosseum. 

Mustering our forces to return together, the cry was 
raised ^'A man a- wanting ! " It seems there is an appa- 
ratus constructed in an apartment leading from the 
balcony, by which parties may, with a great degree of 
suddenness, be raised or lowered from or to the music- 
room. Our friend, at all times anxious to make the 
most of a shilling, followed some parties into the ^^ascen- 
sion-room," as it is called, and took his seat beside 
them, expecting that on the withdrawal of a curtain 
he should witness something which his companions 
would miss. A bell sounded, and suddenly our expect- 
ant found himself some twenty feet lower, and obliged 
to follow the example of his co-descendants still further, 


by furnishing the attendant with such a gratuity as be- 
came an imitator of the Queen Elizabeth. 

To another, but extremely difiFerentj of nature's imita- 
tions, we now turned our steps. After traversing one or 
two passages, the lights of which became more dim as we 
advanced, we reached a cavern's mouth. Here our prog- 
ress was arrested by an iron grating. Our inquisitive 
friend, however, soon discovered that this obstacle could 
be removed, — it being, in fact, similar to those revolving 
barriers (we forget the name given in the 'Hrade") 
placed at the entrance to the Great Exhibition. Like 
them, too, they checked all egress, and, to the further 
astonishment of the man of prying propensity, we were 
soon called upon for so many extra sixpences, indicated 
by this tell-tale gateway as being the number of persons 
who had entered since the keeper left. 

The damp and dripping stones, with their coat of foggy 
green, — the exclusion of every sound from without, — 
the stunted measure of our speech, — the sharp clank of 
our footsteps, — and the frowning gloom of every corner 
of this retreat, soon gave evidence of the excellence of 
the design and entire structure, in the impression which 
it raised that, in reality, we were in some secluded ren- 
dezvous of smugglers, or of outlaws. Tea, the question 
was put by one who had seldom crossed the Cree, Was 
Meg Merrilies' one like this ? while a party who had 
explored Ben Lomond and its neighborhood was asked 
if from it there could not be formed some notion of that 
which bears the name of the chief, Rob Roy. 


Relieved alike from depressing atmosphere and cloudy 
thoughts, we retired to a projecting window, from which 
to view the ^^ Swiss cottage,'' as it is called. Upon the 
verge of a tremendous precipice is seen a lonely, cot. All 
communication with it is cut off, save by the rugged trunk 
of a withered tree which spans an opposite projection. 
Under this. unstable bridge gush torrents of foaming water, 
lashed down from the heights beyond. Yet morn and 
eve does an industrious peasant leave and return to his 
romantic home across this dangerous way. See now, as 
he returns from his toil, he paces cautiously along ; and 
yonder, at the further end, stand wife and little ones 
waiting to greet him when he crosses. ! happy man, 
to live where thus thou 'rt called to venture much and 
oft for those thou lovest, and be as oft rewarded by re- 
newed tokens of their affection and most tender attach- 
ment ! 

Through openings in the walls w^e witnessed, also, the 
representation of mines and manufactures in full opera- 
tion; and then, as we withdrew, we , passed through 
artificial walks adorned with every kind of fantastical 
structure, and at some points of which, from the position 
of reflecting-glasses, we viewed in them hundreds of the 
very objects of which we could, with the unaided eye, see 
but one. 

*' Passing we looked, and, looking, grieved to pass 
From the fair (?) figures smiling in the glass." 


'* The treasures of the deep are not so precious 
As are the concealed comforts of a man 
Locked up in woman's love. I scent the air 
Of blessings, when I come but near the house. 
What a delicious breath marriage sends forth ! . . . 
The violet bed 's not sweeter." 


DuRiNa a sojourn of five years in Europe, I have 
spent many pleasant hours in stroiling through old 
church-yards, and reading the epitaphs upon the tomb- 
stones of the dead. Part of the pleasure was derived 
from a wish for solitude ; and no place offers as quiet 
walks as a village burial-ground. And the curious epi- 
taphs that are to be seen in a church-yard six or eight 
hundred years old are enough to cause a smile, even in 
so solemn a place as a grave-yard. While walking 
through Horsleydown church, in Cumberland, a short 
time since, I read an inscription over a tomb which I 
copied, and shall give in this chapter, although at the 
risk of bringing down upon my devoted head the indig- 
nation of the fair sex. Domestic enjoyment is often 
blasted by an intermixture of foibles with virtues of a 


superior kind ; and if the following shall prove a warn- 
ing to wives, I shall be fully compensated for my trouble. 

Here lie the bodies of 

Thomas Bond, and Mary his wife. 

She was temperate, chaste and charitable ; 


She was proud, peevish and passionate. 

She was an aifectionate wife and a tender mother ; 


Her husband and child, whom she loved, seldom saw her 

countenance without a disgusting frown, 

Whilst she received visitors, whom she despised, with an 

endearing smile. 

Her behavior was discreet toward strangers ; 


imprudent in her family. 

Abroad, her conduct was influenced by good-breeding ; 


%t home, by ill-temper. 

She was a professed enemy to flattery, and was 

Seldom known to praise or commend ; 


the talents in which she principally excelled were 

difierence of opinion, and discovering 

flaws and imperfections. 

She was an admirable economist, 

and, without prodigality, 

dispensed plenty to every person in her family ; 


would sacrifice their eyes to a farthing candle. 

She sometimes made her husband happy with her good qualities ; 


Much more frequently miserable with her many failings ; 

Insomuch, that, in thirty years' cohabitation, he often 

lamented that, maugre her virtues, 


He had not, in the whole, enjoyed two years 

of matrimonial comfort. 

At length, 

finding that she had lost the affections of her 

husband, as well as the regard of her neighbors, family 

disputes having been divulged by servants, 

She died of vexation, July 20, 1768, 

Aged 48 years. 

Her worn-out husband survived her four months 

and two days, and departed this life November 28, 1768, 

in the 64th year of his age. 

William Bond, brother to the deceased, erected 

this stone, 

a weekly monitor to the surviving wives of this 

parish, that they may avoid the infamy 

of having their memories handed down to posterity 

with a patch-work character. 


" To where the broken landscape, by degrees 
Ascending, roughens into rigid hills ; 
O'er which the Cambrian mountains, like far clouds 
That skirt the blue horizon, dusky rise."^ 


I HAVE visited few places' where I found warmer 
friends, or felt myself more at home, than in Aberdeen. 
The dwellings, being built mostly of granite, remind 
one of Boston, especially in a walk down Union-street, 
which is thought to be one of the finest promenades in 
Europe. The town is situated on a neck of land be- 
tween the rivers Dee and Don, and is the most important 
commercial place in the north of Scotland. 

During our stay in the city we visited, among other 
places, the old bridge of Don, which is not only resorted 
to owing to its antique celebrity and peculiar appear- 
ance, but also for the notoriety that it has gained by Lord 
Byron's poem for the ^' Bridge of Don.'' His lordship 
spent several years here during his minority, and this 
old bridge was a favorite resort of his. In one of his 
notes he alludes to how he used to hang over its one 
archj and the deep black salmon stream beloWj with a 


mixture of childish terror and delight. While we stood 
upon the melancholy bridge, and although the scene 
around was severely grand and terrific, — the river swol- 
len, the wind howling amongst the leafless trees, the sea 
in the distance, — and although the walk where Hall and 
Mackintosh were wont to melt down hours to moments in 
high converse was in sight, it was, somehow or other, 
the figure of the mild lame boy leaning over the parapet 
that filled our fancy ; and the chief fascination of the 
spot seemed to breathe from the genius of the author of 
•'^ Childe Harold." 

To Anthony Cruikshank, Esq., whose hospitality we 
shared in Aberdeen, we are indebted for showing us the 
different places of interest in the town and vicinity. An 
engagement, however, to be in Edinburgh, cut short our 
stay in the north. The very mild state of the weather, 
and a wish to see something of the coast between Aber- 
deen and Edinburgh, induced us to make the journey by 
water. Consequently, after delivering a lecture before 
the Mechanics' Institute, with His Honor the Provost in 
the chair, on the evening of February 15th, we went on 
board the steamer bound for Edinburgh. On reaching 
the vessel we found the drawing-saloon almost entirely 
at our service, and, prejudice against color being un- 
known, we had no difiiculty in obtaining the best accom- 
modation that the steamer afibrded. This was so unlike 
the pro-slavery, negro-hating spirit of America, that my 
colored friends who were with me were almost bewildered 
by the transition. The night was a glorious one. The 


sky was cloudlesSj and the clear, bracing air had a buoy- 
ancy I have seldom seen. The moon was in its zenith ; 
the steamer and surrounding objects were beautiful in the 
extreme. The boat left her moorings at half-past twelve, 
and we were soon out at sea. The '' Queen " is a splen- 
did craft, and, without the aid of sails, was able to make 
fifteen miles within the hour. I was up the next morn- 
ing extremely early, — indeed, before any of my fellow- 
passengers, — and found the sea, as on the previous night, 
as calm and as smooth as a mirror. 

" There was no sound upon the deep, 

The breeze lay cradled there ; 
The motionless waters sank to sleep 

Beneath the sultry air ; 
Out of the cooling brine to leap 

The dolphin scarce would dare." 

It was a delightful morning, more like April than 
February ; and the sun, as it rose, seemed to fire every 
peak of the surrounding hills. On our left lay the 
Island of May, while to the right was to be seen the 
small fishing-town of Anstruther, twenty miles distant 
from Edinburgh. Beyond these, on either side, was a 
range of undulating blue mountains, swelling, as they 
retired, into a bolder outline and a loftier altitude, until 
they terminated some twenty-five or thirty miles in the 
dim distance. A friend at my side pointed out a place 
on the right, where the remains of an old castle or look- 
out house, used in the time of the border wars, once 


stood, and which reminded us of the barbarism of the 

But these signs are fast disappearing. The plough 
and roller have passed over many of these foundations, 
and the time will soon come when the antiquarian will 
look in vain for those places that history has pointed out 
to him as connected with the political and religious 
struggles of the past. The steward of the vessel came 
round to see who of the passengers wished for breakfast ; 
and as the keen air of the morning had given me an ap- 
petite, and there being no prejudice on the score of color, 
I took my seat at the table, and gave ample evidence 
that I was not an invalid. On our return to the deck 
again, I found that we had entered the Frith of Forth, and 
that '' Modern Athens" was in sight; and far above 
every other object, with its turrets almost lost in the 
clouds, could be seen Edinburgh Castle. 

After landing, and a pleasant ride over one of the 
finest roads in Scotland, with a sprinkling of beautiful 
villas on either side, we were once more at Cannon's 
Hotel. While in the city, on this occasion, we w^ent on 
the Calton Hill, from which we had a delightful view of 
the place and surrounding country. 

I had an opportunity, during my stay in Edinburgh, 
of visiting the Infirmary ; and was pleased to see among 
the two or three hundred students three colored young 
men, seated upon the same benches with those of a 
fairer complexion, and yet there appeared no feeling on 
the part of the whites towards their colored associates, 


except of companionship and respect. One of the cardi- 
nal truths, both of religion and freedonij is the equality 
and brotherhood of man. In the sight of God and all 
just institutions, the whites can claim no precedence or 
privilege on account of their being white ; and if colored 
men are not treated as they should be in the educational 
institutions in America, it is a pleasure to know that all 
distinction ceases by crossing the broad Atlantic. I had 
scarcely left the lecture-room of the Institute and reached 
the street, when I met a large number of the students on 
their way to the college, and here again were seen col- 
ored men arm in arm with whites. The proud American 
who finds himself in the splendid streets of Edinburgh, 
and witnesses such scenes as these, can but behold in 
them the degradation of his own country, whose laws 
would make slaves of these same young men, should they 
appear in the streets of Charleston or New Orleans. 

During my stay in Edinburgh I accepted an invita- 
tion to breakfast with George Combe, Esq., the distin- 
guished philosophical phrenologist, and author of '^The 
Constitution of Man." Although not far from seventy 
years of age, I found him apparently as active and as 
energetic as many men of half that number of years. 
Mr. Combe feels a deep interest in the cause of the 
American slave. I have since become more intimately 
acquainted with him, and am proud to reckon him 
amongst the warmest of my friends. In all of Mr. 
Combe's philanthropic exertions he is ably seconded by 
his wife, a lady of rare endowments^ of an attractive per- 


son and engaging manners, and whose greatest delight is 
in doing good. She took much interest in Ellen Craft, 
Avho formed one of the breakfast party ; and was often 
moved to tears on the recital of the thrilling narrative of 
her escape from slavery. 


** Look here, upon this picture, and on this." 


No one accustomed to pass through Cheapside could 
fail to have noticed a good-looking man, neither black 
nor white, engaged in distributing bills to the thousands 
who throng that part of the city of London. While 
strolling through Cheapside, one morning, I saw, for the 
fiftieth time, Joseph Jenkins, the subject of this chapter, 
handing out his bills to all who would take them as he 
thrust them into their hands. I confess that I was not a 
little amused, and stood for some moments watching and 
admiring his energy in distributing his papers. A few 
days after, I saw the same individual in Chelsea, sweep- 
ing a crossing ; here, too, he was equally as energetic as 
when I met him in the city. Some days later, while 
going through Kensington, I heard rather a sweet, musi- 
cal voice singing a familiar psalm, and on looking round 
was not a little surprised to find that it was the Cheap- 
side bill-distributor and Chelsea crossing-sweeper. He 
was now singing hymns, and selling religious tracts. I 


am fond of patronizing genius, and therefore took one of 
his tracts and paid him for a dozen. 

During the following week, I saw, while going up the 
city road, that Shakspeare's tragedy of Othello was to be 
performed at the Eagle Saloon that night, and that the 
character of the Moor AYas to be taken by ^' Selim, an 
African prince.^ ^ Having no engagement that evening, 
I resolved at once to attend, to witness the performance 
of the ^^ African Roscius," as he was termed on the bills. 
It was the same interest that had induced me to go to 
the Italian opera to see Madames Sontag and Grisi in 
Norma, and to visit Drury Lane to see Macready take 
leave of the stage. My expectations were screwed up to 
the highest point. The excitement caused by the publi- 
cation of ^^ Uncle Tom's Cabin " had prepared the public 
for anything in the African line, and I felt that the 
prince would be sure of a good audience ; and in this I 
was not disappointed, for, as I took my seat in one of the 
boxes near the stage, I saw that the house was crammed 
with an orderly company. The curtain was already up 
when I entered, and lago and Roderigo were on the 
stage. After a while Othello came in, and was greeted 
with thunders of applause, which he very gracefully 
acknowledged. Just black enough to take his part with- 
out coloring his face, and being tall, with a good figure 
and an easy carriage, a fine, full and musical voice, he 
was well adapted to the character of Othello. I imme- 
diately recognized in the countenance of the Moor a face 
that I had seen before, but could not at the moment tell 


•where. Who could this ^^ prince" be, thought I. He 
was too black for Douglass, not black enough for Ward, 
not tall enough for Garnet, too calm for Delany, figure, 
though fine, not genteel enough for Remond. . However, 
I was soon satisfied as to who the star was. Reader, 
would you think it ? it was no less a person than Mr. 
Jenkins, the bill-distributor from Cheapside, and crossing- 
sweeper from Chelsea! For my own part, I was over- 
whelmed with amazement, and it was some time before I 
could realize the fact. He soon showed that he possessed 
great dramatic power and skill ; and his description to 
the senate of how he won the affections of the gentle 
Desdemona stamped him at once as an actor of merit. 
^^ What a pity," said a lady near me to a gentleman that 
was by her side, -Hhat a prince of the royal blood of 
Africa should have to go upon the stage for a living ! It 
it is indeed a shame ! " When he came to the scene, 

** 0, cursed, cursed slave ! — whip me, ye devils. 
From the possession of this heavenly sight ! 
Blow me about in winds, roast me in sulphur ! 
Wash me in steep-down gulfs of liquid fire ! 
0, Desdemona ! Desdemona ! dead ?, 
Dead? ! ! 0!" 

the effect was indeed grand. When the curtain fell, the 
prince was called upon the stage, where he was received 
with deafening shouts of approbation, and a number of 
bouquets thrown at his feet, which he picked up, bowed, 
and retired. I went into Cheapside the next morning, 
at an early hour, to see if the prince had given up his 


old trade for what I supposed to be a more lucrative one ; 
but I found the hero of the previous night at his post, 
and giving out his bills as energetically as when I had 
last seen him. Having to go to the provinces for some 
months, I lost sight of Mr. Jenkins, and on my return to 
town did not trouble myself to look him up. More than 
a year after I had witnessed the representation of 
Othello at the Eagle, I was walking, one pleasant 
Sabbath evening, through one of the small streets in the 
borough, when I found myself in front of a little chapel, 
where a number of persons were going in. As I was 
passing on slowly, an elderly man said to me, '^ I suppose 
you have come to hear your colored brother preach." 
^•No," I answered; ''I w^as not aware that one was to 
be here." '^Yes," said he; '^and a clever man he is, 
too." As the old man offered to find me a seat, I con- 
cluded to go in and hear this son of Africa. The room, 
which was not large, was already full. I had to wait 
but a short time before the reverend gentleman made his 
appearance. He was nearly black, and dressed in a 
black suit, with high shirt-collar, and an intellectual- 
looking cravat, that nearly hid his chin. A pair of spec- 
tacles covered his eyes. The preacher commenced by 
reading a portion of Scripture ; and then announced that 
they would sing the twenty-eighth hymn in ^Hhe ar- 
rangement." 0, that voice ! I felt sure that I had 
heard that musical voice before ; but vfhere, I could not 
tell. I was not aware that any of my countrymen were 
in London ; but felt that, whoever he was, he was no 


discredit to the race ; for lie was a most eloquent and 
accomplished orator. His sermon was against the sale 
and use of intoxicating drinks, and the bad habits of the 
working classes, of whom his audience was composed. 

Although the subject was intensely interesting, I was 
impatient for it to come to a close, for I wanted to speak 
to the preacher. But, the evening being warm, and the 
room heated, the reverend gentleman, on wiping the per- 
spiration from his face (which, by the way, ran very 
freely), took off his spectacles on one occasion, so that I 
immediately recognized him, and saved me from going up 
to the pulpit at the end of the service. Yes ; it was the 
bill-distributor of Cheapside, the crossing-sweeper of 
Chelsea, the tract-seller and psalm-singer of Kensington, 
and the Othello of the Eagle Saloon. I could scarcely 
keep from laughing right out when I discovered this to 
be the man that I had seen in so many characters. As 
I was about leaving my seat at the close of the services, 
the old man who showed me into the chapel asked me if 
I would not like to be introduced to the minister, and I 
immediately replied that I would. We proceeded up the 
aisle, and met the clergyman as he was descending. On 
seeing me, he did not w^ait for a formal introduction, but 
put out his hand and said, ^^ I have seen you so often, 
sir, that I seem to know you." ^' Yes,*' I replied ; *' we 
have met several times, and under different circum- 
stances." Without saying more, he invited me to walk 
with him towards his home, which was in the direction of 
my own residence. We proceeded; and, during the 


walk, Mr. Jenkins gave me some little account of his 
early history. ^'You think me rather an odd fish, I 
presume/' said he. ^^Yes/' I replied. ^'You are not 
the only one who thinks so/' continued he. ^^ Although 
I am not as black as some of my countrymen, I am a 
native of Africa. Surrounded by some beautiful moun- 
tain scenery, and situated between Darfour and Abyssinia, 
ty^^o thousand miles in the interior of Africa, is a small 
valley going by the name of Tegla. To that valley I 
stretch forth my affections, giving it the endearing appel- 
lation of my native hom^e and fatherland. It was there 
that I was born, it was there that I received the fond 
looks of a loving mother, and it was there that I set my 
feet, for the first time, upon a world full of cares, trials, 
difficulties and dangers. My father being a farmer, I 
used to be sent out to take care of his goats. This ser- 
vice I did when I was between seven and eight years of 
age. As I was the eldest of the boys, my pride was 
raised in no small degree when I beheld my father pre- 
paring a farm for me. This event filled my mind with 
the grand anticipation of leaving the care of the goats to 
my brother, who was then beginning to work a little. 
V/hile my father was making these preparations, I had 
the constant charge of the goats ; and, being accompanied 
by two other boys, who resided near my father's house, 
we Yfandered many miles from home, by which means we 
acquired a knowledge of the different districts of our 

^'It was while in these rambles with my companions 


that I became the victim of the slave-trader. We were 
tied with cords, and taken to Tegla, and thence to Kor- 
dofan, which is under the jurisdiction of the Pacha of 
Egypt. From Kordofan I was brought down to Dongola 
and Kortij in Nubia, and from thence down the Nile to 
Cairo ; and, after being sold nine times, I became the 
property of an English gentleman, who brought me to 
this country and put me into school. But he died before 
I finished my education, and his family feeling no interest 
in me, I had to seek a living as best I could. I have 
been employed for some years in distributing hand-bills 
for a barber in Cheapside in the morning, go to Chelsea 
and sweep a crossing in the afternoon, and sing psalms 
and sell religious tracts in the evening. Sometimes I 
have an engagement to perform at some of the small 
theatres, as I had when you saw me at the Eagle. I 
preach for this little congregation over here, and charge 
them nothing ; for I want that the poor should have the 
Gospel without money and without price. I have now 
given up distributing bills ; I have settled my son in that 
office. My eldest daughter was married about three 
months ago ; and I have presented her husband with the 
Chelsea crossing, as my daughter's wedding portion.'' 
'•Can he make a living at it?" I eagerly inquired. 
'^ 0, yes ! that crossing at Chelsea is worth thirty shil- 
lings a week, if it is well swept," said he. ''But what 
do you do for a living for yourself? " I asked. " I am 
the leader of a band," he continued; ''and we play for 


balls and parties, and three times a week at the Holborn 

By this time we had reached a point where we had to 
part ; and I left Joseph Jenkins, impressed with the idea 
that he was the greatest genius that I had met in 


** Farewell ! we did not know tliy worth ; 
But thou art gone, and now 't is prized. 
So angels walked unknown on earth. 
But when they flew were recognized." 

Thomas Hood. 

It was on Taesday, July 18, 1854, that I set out for 
Kensall Green Cemetery, to attend the inauguration of 
the monument erected to the memory of Thomas Hood, 
the poet. It was the first pleasant day we had had for 
some time, and the weather was exceedingly fine. The 
company was large, and many literary characters were 
present. Near the monument sat Eliza Cook, author 
of the '' Old Arm Chair," with her hair cut short and 
parted on one side like a man's. She is short in stature, 
and thick-set, with fair complexion, and bright eyes. 
Not far from Miss Cook was Mrs. Balfour, author of 
the ^^ Working "Women of the Last Half-century,'' 
'^Morning Dew Drops," etc. etc. Mrs. Balfour is both 
taller and stouter than Miss Cook ; and both are about the 
same age, — not far from forty. Murdo Young, Esq., 
of The Sim, and George Cruikshank, stood near the 
monument. Horace Mayhew, author of ^^ London Labor 


and London Poor," was by the side of Cruikshank. The 
Hon. Mrs. Milnes sat near Eliza Cook. As the cere- 
mony was about to commencej a short, stout man, with 
dark complexion, and black hair, took his stand on a 
tomb near by ; this was R. Monckton Milnes, Esq., 
author of ^^ Poetry for the People," and M.P. for 
Pontefract. He was the orator of the occasion. 

The monument, which has been ably executed by Mr. 
Matthew Noble, consists of a bronze bust of the poet 
elevated on a pedestal of highly-polished red granite, the 
whole being twelve feet high. In front of the bust are 
placed wreaths in bronze, formed of the laurel, the 
myrtle, and the immortelle ; and on a slab beneath the 
bust appears that well-known line of the poet, which he 
desired should be used as his epitaph : 

" He sang the Song of the Shirt." 

Upon the front of the pedestal is carved this inscrip- 
tion : • 

'' In memory of Thomas Hood, born 23d May, 1798 ; died 3d May, 
1845. Erected by public subscription, A. d. 1854." 

At the base of the pedestal a lyre and comic mask in 
bronze are thrown together, suggesting the mingled 
character of Hood's writings ; whilst on the sides of the 
pedestal are bronze medallions illustrating the poems of 
^'The Bridge of Sighs'' and ^' The Dream of Eugene 
Aram." The whole design is worthy of the poet and 
the sculptor, and it is much to the honor of the latter 


that his sympathy with the object has entirely destroyed 
all hope of profit from the work. 

Mr. Milnes was an intimate friend of the poet, and his 
selection as orator was in good taste. He. spoke with 
great delicacy and kindness of Hood's personal charac- 
teristics, and with much taste upon the artistic value of 
the dead humorist's works. He touched with great 
felicity and subtlety upon the value of humor. He 
defined its province, and showed how closely it was 
connected with the highest forms in which genius mani- 
fests itself. Mr. Milnes spoke, however, more as a friend 
than as a critic, and his genial utterances excited emo- 
tions in the hearts of his hearers which told how deep 
was their sympathy both with the orator and the subject 
of his eulogium. There were not many dry eyes amongst 
his hearers when he quoted one or two exquisite portions 
of Hood's poems. It was evident that the greater part 
of the audience were well acquainted with the works of 
the poet, and were delighted to hear the quotations from 
poems which had afforded them exquisite gratification in 
the perusal. 

Hood was not a merely ephemeral writer. He did 
not address himself to the feelings which mere passing 
events generated in the minds of his readers. He smote 
deep down into the hearts of his admirers. Had he been 
nothing more than a literary man, the ceremony on this 
occasion would have been an impertinence. The nation 
cannot afford to have its time taken up by eulogiums on 
every citizen who does his work well in his own particu- 


lar line. NeverthelesSj when a man not only does his 
own work well, but acts powerfully on the national mind, 
then his fame is a national possession, and may be with 
all propriety made the subject of public commemoration. 
A great author is distinguished from the merely profes- 
sional scribe by the fact of adding something to the 
stock of national ideas. Who can tell how much of the 
national character is due to the operation of the works of 
Shakspeare ? The flood of ideas with which the great 
dramatist inundated the national mind has enriched it 
and fertilized it. We are most of us wiser and better by 
the fact of Shakspeare having lived and written. It 
would not be difficult to find in most modern works 
traces of the influence which Shakspeare has exercised 
over the writers. A great author, such as Shakspeare,- 
is, then, a great public educator. The national mind is 
enlarged and enriched by the treasures which he pours 
into it. There is, therefore, a great propriety in making 
such a writer the subject of public eulogium. 

Hood was one of those who not only enriched the 
national literature, but instructed the national mind. 
His conceptions, it is true, were not vast. His labors 
were not, like those of Shakspeare, colossal. But he has 
produced as permanent an effect on the nation as many of 
its legislators. 

Englishmen are wiser and better because Hood has 
lived. In one of his own poems, ^^The Death-Bed," 
how sweetly he sang : 


'* We watched her breathing through the night, 
Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 
Kept heaving to and fro. 

" So silently we seemed to speak, 
So slowly moved about, 
As we had lent her half our powers 
To eke her living out. 

" Our very hopes belied our fears, 
Our fears our hopes belied ; 
We thought her dying when she slept, 
And sleeping when she died. 

" For when the morn came dim and sad. 
And chill with early showers. 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
Another morn than ours." 

Thomas Hood has another morn ; may that morn have 
brightened into perfect day ! It is well known that the 
poet died almost on the verge of starvation. Being 
seized, long before his death, with a malady that kept 
him coniSned to his bed the greater part of the time, he 
became much embarrassed. Still, in defiance of anguish 
and weakness, he toiled on, until nature could endure no 
more. Many of Hood's humorous pieces were written 
upon a sick bed, and taken out and sold to the publishers, 
that his family might have bread. Little did those who 
laughed over these comical sayings think of the pain 
that it cost the poet to write them. And, now that he is 
gone, we often hear some one say, ^^ Poor HoodV^ But 


peace to his ashes ! He now lies in the finest cemetery 
in the worldj and in one of its greenest spots. At the 
close of the inauguration, a rush was made to get a view 
of Eliza Cook, as being the next great novelty after the 
monument, if not its equal. 


** Dull rogues affect the politician's part. 
And learn to nod, and smile, and shrug, "with art ; 
Who nothing has to lose, the war bewails ; 
And he who nothing pays, at taxes rails.'' 


The Abbey clock was striking nine, as we entered 
the House of Commons, and, giving up our ticket, were 
conducted to the strangers' gallery. We immediately 
recognized many of the members, whom we had met in 
private circles or public meetings. Just imagine, 
reader, that we are now seated in the strangers' gallery, 
looking down upon the representatives of the people of 
the British empire. 

There, in the centre of the room, shines the fine, open, 
glossy brow and speaking face of Alexander Hastie, a 
Glasgow merchant, a mild and amiable man, of modest 
deportment, liberal principles, and religious profession. He 
has been twice elected for the city of Glasgow, in which he 
resides. He once presided at a meeting for us in his own 

On the right of the hall, from where we sit, you see 
that small man, with fair complexion, brown hair, gray 
eyeSj and a most intellectual countenance. It is Layard, 


with whom we spent a pleasant day at Hartwell Park, 
the princely residence of John Lee, Esq., LL.D. He 
was employed as consul at Bagdad, in Turkey. While 
there he explored the ruins of ancient Nineveh, and sent 
to England the Assyrian relics now in the British Museum. 
He is member for Aylesbury. He takes a deep interest in 
the Eastern question, and censures the government for 
their want of energy in the present war. 

Not far from Layard you see the large frame and dusky 
visage of Joseph Hume. He was the son of a poor 
woman who sold apples in the streets of London. Mr. 
Hume spent his younger days in India, where he made a 
fortune ; and then returned to England, and was elected 
a member of the House of Commons, where he has 
been ever since, with the exception of five or six years. 
He began political life as a tory, but soon went over to 
radicalism. He is a great financial reformer, and has 
originated many of the best measures of a practical char- 
acter that have been passed in Parliament during the last 
thirty years. He is seventy-five years old, but still full 
of life and activity — capable of great endurance and 
incessant labor. No man enjoys to an equal extent the 
respect and confidence of the legislature. Though his 
opinions are called extreme, he contents himself with 
realizing, for the present, the good that is attainable. He 
is emphatically a progressive reformer ; and the father of 
the House of Commons. 

To the left of Mr. Hume you see a slim, thin-faced 
man, with spectacles, an anxious countenance^ his hat on 

284 places\ni) people abroad. 

another seat before hinij and in it a large paper rolled 
up. That is Edward Miall. He was educated for the 
Baptist ministry, and was called when very young to be 
a pastor. He relinquished his charge to become the con- 
ductor of a paper devoted to the abolition of the state 
church J and the complete political enfranchisement of the 
people. He made, several unsuccessful attempts to go into 
Parliament, and at last succeeded Thomas Crawford in the 
representation of Rochdale, where in 1852 he was elected 
free of expense. He is one of the most democratic mem- 
bers of the legislature. Miall is an able writer and 
speaker — a very close and correct reasoner. He stands 
at the very head of the Nonconformist party in Great 
Britain ; and The Nonconformist^ of which he is editor, 
is the most radical journal in the United Kingdom. 

Look at that short, thick-set. man, with his hair parted 
on the crown of his head, a high and expansive forehead, 
and an uncommon bright eye. That is William Johnson 
Fox. He was a working weaver at NorAvich; then went 
to Holton College, London, to be educated for the Ortho- 
dox Congregational ministry ; afterwards embraced Uni- 
tarian views. He was invited to Finsbury Chapel, where 
for many years he lectured v/eekly upon a wide range of 
subjects, embracing literature, political science, theology, 
government and social economy. He is the writer of 
the articles signed ^^Publicola" in the Weekly Dis- 
patchy a democratic newspaper. He has retired from 
his pulpit occupations, and supports himself exclusively 
by his pen, in connection with the liberal journals of the 


metropolis. Mr. Fox is a witty and vigorous writer, an 
animated and brilliant orator. 

Yonder, on the right of us, sits Richard Cobden. Look 
at his thin, pale face, and spare-made frame. He started 
as a commercial traveller ; was afterwards a calico-printer 
and merchant in Manchester. He was the expounder, in 
the Manchester Chamber of Commerce and in the town 
council, of the principles of free trade. In the council 
of the Anti- Corn-Law League, he was the leader, and 
principal agitator of the question in public meetings 
throughout the kingdom. He was first elected for Stock- 
port. When Sir Robert Peel's administration abolished 
the corn-laws, the prime minister avowed in the House of 
Commons that the great measure was in most part 
achieved by the unadorned eloquence of Richard Cobden. 
He is the representative of the non-intervention or polit- 
ical peace party ; holding the right and duty of national 
defence, but opposing all alliances which are calculated to 
embroil the country in the affairs of other nations. His 
age is about fifty. He represents the largest constituency 
in the kingdom — the western division of Yorkshire, 
which contains thirty-seven thousand voters. Mr. Cob- 
den has a reflective cast of mind ; and is severely logical 
in his style, and very lucid in the treatment of his sub- 
jects. He may be termed the leader of the radical party 
in the House. 

Three seats from Cobden you see that short, stout per- 
son, with his high head, large, round face, good-sized eyes. 
It is Macaulay, the poet, critic, historian and statesman. 


If you have not read his Essay on Milton, you should do 
so immediately; it is the finest thing of the kind in the 
language. Then. there is his criticism on the Rev. R. 
Montgomery. Macaulay vf ill never be forgiven by the 
divine for that onslaught upon his poetical reputation. 
That review did more to keep the reverend poet's works 
on the publisher's shelves than all other criticisms com- 
bined. Macaulay represents the city of Edinburgh. 

Look at that tall man, apparently near seventy, with 
front teeth gone. That is Joseph Brotherton, the mem- 
ber for Salford. He has represented that constituency 
ever since 1832. He has always been a consistent lib- 
eral, and is a man of business. He is no orator, and 
seldom speaks, unless in favor of the adjournment of the 
House when the hour of midnight has arrived. At the 
commencement of every new session of Parliament he 
prepares a resolution that no business shall be entered 
upon after the hour of twelve at night, but has never 
been able to carry it. He is a teetotaller and a vegeta- 
rian, a member of the Peace Society, and a preacher in 
the small religious society to which he .belongs. • 

In a seat behind Brotherton you see a young-looking 
man, with neat figure, white vest, frilled shirt, with gold 
studs, gold breast-pin, a gold chain round the neck, ^ 
white kid glove on the right hand, the left bare with the 
exception of two gold rings. It is Samuel Morton Peto. 
He is of humble origin - — has made a vast fortune as a 
builder and contractor for docks and railways. He is a 
Baptist, and contributes very largely to his own and 


other dissenting denominations. He has built several 
Baptist chapels in London and elsewhere. His appear- 
ance is that of a gentleman ; and his style of speaking, 
though not elegant, yet pleasing. 

Over on the same side with the liberals sits John 
Bright, the Quaker statesman, and leader of the Man- 
chester school. ' He is the son of a Rochdale manufac- 
turer, and first distinguished himself as an agitator in 
favor of the repeal of the corn-laws. He represents the 
city of Manchester, and has risen very rapidly. Mr. 
Cobden and he invariably act together, and will, doubt- 
less, sooner or later, come into power together. Look at 
his robust and powerful frame, round and pleasing face. 
He is but little more than forty ; an earnest and eloquent 
speaker, and commands the fixed attention of his audi- 

See that exceedingly good-looking man just taking his 
seat. It is William Ewart Gladstone. He is the son of 
a Liverpool merchant, and represents the University of 
Oxford. He came into Parliament in 1832, under the 
auspices of the tory Duke of Newcastle. He was a 
disciple of the first Sir R. Peel, and was by that states- 
man introduced into official life. He has been Vice- 
president and President of the Board of Trade, and is 
now Chancellor of the Exchequer. Mr. Gladstone is 
only forty-four. When not engaged in speaking he is of 
rather unprepossessing appearance. His forehead ap- 
pears low, but his eye is bright and penetrating. He is 
one of the ablest debaters in the House, and is master 


of a style of eloquence in whicli he is quite unapproached. 
As a reasoner he is subtle, and occasionally Jesuitical ; 
but, with a good cause and a conviction of the right, he 
rises to a lofty pitch of oratory, and may be termed the 
Wendell Phillips of the House of Commons. ' 

There sits Disraeli, amongst the tories. Look at that 
Jewish face, those dark ringlets hanging round that mar- 
ble brow. When on his feet he has a cat-like, stealthy 
step ; always looks on the ground when walking. He is 
the son of the well-known author of the ^' Curiosities of 
Literature.'' His ancestors were Venetian Jews. He 
was himself born a Jew, and was initiated into the He- 
brew faith. Subsequently he embraced Christianity. 
His literary works are numerous, consisting entirely of 
novels, with the exception of a biography of the late 
Lord George Bentinck, the leader of the protectionist 
party, to whose post Mr. Disraeli succeeded on the death 
of his friend and political chief. Mr. Disraeli has been 
all round the compass in politics. He is now professedly 
a conservative, but is believed to be willing to support 
any measures, however sweeping and democratical, if by 
so doing he could gratify his ambition — which is for 
office and power. He was the great thorn in the side of 
the late Sir E.. Peel, and was never so much at home as 
when he could find a flaw in that distinguished states- 
man's political acts. He is an able debater and a fin- 
ished orator, and in his speeches wrings applause even 
from his political opponents. 

Cast your eyes to the opposite side of the House, and 


take a good view of that venerable man, full of years, 
just rising from his seat.' See how erect he stands; he 
is above seventy years of age, and yet he does not seem 
to be forty. That is Lord Palmerston. Next to Joseph 
Hume, he is the oldest member in the House. He has 
been longer in oflSce than any other living man. All 
parties have, by turns, claimed him, and he has belonged 
to all kinds of administrations ; tory, conservative, 
w^hig, and coalition. He is a ready debater, and is a 
general favorite, as a speaker, for his wit and adroitness, 
but little trusted by any party as a statesman. His 
talents have secured him office, as he is useful as a min- 
ister, and dangerous as an opponent. 

That is Lord Dudley Cutts Stuart speaking to Mr. 
Ewart. His lordship represents the populous and 
wealthy division of the district of Marylebone. He is a 
radical, the warm friend of the cause of Poland, Hun- 
gary and Turkey. He speaks often, but always with a 
degree of hesitation which makes it painful to listen to 
him. His solid frame, strongly-marked features, and 
unmercifully long eye-brows are in strange contrast to 
the delicate face of Mr. Ewart. 

The latter is the representative for Dumfries, a Scotch 
borough. He belongs to a wealthy family, that has 
made its fortune by commerce. Mr. Ewart is a radical, 
a stanch advocate of the abolition of capital punish- 
ment, and a strenuous supporter of all measures for the 
intellectual improvement of the people. 

Ah ! we shall now have a speech. See that little man 


rising from his seat; look at his thin black hair, how it 
seems to stand up ; hear that weak, but distinct voice. 
0, how he repeats the ends of his sentences ! It is Lord 
John Russell, the leader of the present administration. 
He is now asking for three million pounds sterling to 
carry on the war. He is a terse and perspicuous speaker, 
but avoids prolixity. He is much respected on both 
sides of the House. Though favorable to reform meas- 
ures generally, he is nevertheless an upholder of aristoc- 
racy, and stands at the head and firmly by his order. 
He is brother to the present Duke of Bedford, and has 
twice been Premier ; and, though on the sunny side of 
sixty, he has been in ojQSce, at different times, more than 
thirty years. He is a constitutional whig and conser- 
vative reformer. See how earnestly he speaks, and keeps 
his eyes on Disraeli ! He is afraid of the Jew. Now he 
scratches the bald place on his head, and then opens that 
huge roll of paper, and looks over towards Lord Palmicrston. 

That full-faced, well-built man, with handsome coun- 
tenance, just behind him, is Sir Joshua Walmesley. 
He is about the same age of Lord John ; and is the 
representative for Leicester. He is a native of Liverpool, 
where for some years he was a poor teacher, but after- 
wards became wealthy in the corn trade. When mayor 
of his native town, he was knighted. He is a radical 
reformer, and always votes on the right side. 

Lord John Russell has finished and taken his seat. 
Joseph Hume is up. He goes into figures ; he is the 
arithmetician of the House of Commons. Mr. Hume is 


in the Commons what James N. Buffum is in our Anti- 
Slavery meetings, the man of facts. Watch the old 
man's eye as he looks over his papers. He is of no reli- 
gious faith, and said, a short time since, that the world 
would be better off if all creeds were swept into the 
Thames. His motto is that of Pope : 

" For modes of faith let graceless zealots figlit : 
His can't be wrong whose life is in the right." 

Mr. Hume has not been tedious ; he is done. Now for 
Disraeli. He is going to pick Lord John's speech to 
pieces, and he can do it better than any other man in the 
House. See how his ringlets shake as he gesticulates ! 
and that sarcastic smile ! He thinks the government has 
not been vigorous enough in its prosecution of the war. 
He finds fault with the inactivity of the Baltic fleet ; the 
allied army has made no movement to suit him. The 
Jew looks over towards Lord John, and then makes a 
good hit. Lord John shakes his head ; Disraeli has 
touched a tender point, and he smiles as the minister 
turns on his seat. The Jew is delighted beyond meas- 
ure. '' The Noble Lord shakes his head ; am I to under- 
stand that he did not say what I have just repeated?'' 
Lord John: ^^The Right Hon. Gentleman is mistaken ; 
I did not say what he has attributed to me." Disraeli : 
^^I am glad that the Noble Lord has denied what I 
thought he had said." An attack is made on another 
part of the minister's speech. Lord John shakes his head 
again. '' Does the Noble Lord deny that, too 7 " Lord 
John: "No, I don't, but your criticism is unjust." 


Disraeli smiles again : he has the minister in his hands, 
and he shakes him well before he lets him go. What 
cares he for justice ? Criticism is his forte ; it was that 
that made him what he is in the House. The Jew con- 
cludes his speech amid considerable applause. 

All eyes are turned towards the seat of the Chancellor 
of the Exchequer : a pause of a moment's duration, and 
the orator of the House rises to his feet. Those who 
have been reading The Times lay it down : all whis- 
pering stops, and the attention of the members is directed 
to Gladstone, as he begins. Disraeli rests his chin upon 
his hat, which lies upon his knee : he too is chained to 
. his seat by the fascinating eloquence of the man of let- 
ters. Thunders of applause follow, in which all join 
but the Jew. Disraeli changes his position on his seat, 
first one leg crossed, and then the other, but he never 
smiles while his opponent is speaking. He sits like one 
of those marble figures in the British Museum. Disraeli 
has furnished more fun for Punch than any other man 
in the empire. » When it was resolved to have a portrait 
of the late Sir R. Peel painted for the government, Mr. 
Gladstone ordered it to be taken from one that appeared 
in Punch during the lifetime of that great statesman. 
This was indeed a compliment to the sheet of fun. But 
now look at the Chancellor of the Exchequer. He is in 
the midst of his masterly speech, and silence reigns 
throughout the House. 

'* His words of learned length and thundering sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 


And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew 
That one small head could carry all he knew." 

Let us turn for a moment to the gallery in which we 
are seated. It is now near the hour of twelve at night. 
The question before the House is an interesting one, and 
has called together many distinguished persons as visitors. 
There sits the Hon. and Kev. Baptist W. Noel. He is 
one of the first of the Nonconformist ministers in the 
kingdom. He is about fifty years of age ; very tall, and 
stands erect ; has a fine figure, complexion fair, face long 
and rather pale, eyes blue and deeply set. He looks 
every inch the gentleman. Near by Mr. Noel you see 
the Eev. John Gumming, D.D. We stood more than 
an hour last Sunday in his chapel in Crown-court to 
hear him preach ; and such a sermon we have seldom 
ever heard. Dr. Gumming does not look old. He has 
rather a bronzed complexion, with dark hair, eyes covered 
with spectacles. He is an eloquent man, and seems to 
be on good terms with himself. .He is the most ultra 
Protestant we have ever heard, and hates Rome with a 
perfect vengeance. Few men are more popular in an 
Exeter Hall meeting than Dr. Gumming. He is a most 
prolific writer ; scarce a month passes by without some- 
thing from his pen. But they are mostly works of a 
sectarian character, and cannot be of long or of lasting 

Further along sits a man still more eloquent than Dr. 
Gumming. He is of dark complexion, black hair, light 
blue eyes, an intellectual countenance^ and when stand- 


ing looks tall.^ It is the Eev. Henry Melville. He is 
considered the finest preacher in the Church of England. 
TherC; too, is Washington Wilks, Esq., author of '^ The 
Half-century." His face is so covered with beard that 
I will not attempt a description; it may, however, be 
said that he has literally entered into the Beard Move- 

Come, it is time for us to leave the House of Com- 
mons. Stop a moment ! Ah ! there is one that I have not 
pointed out to you. Yonder he sits amongst the tories. 
It is Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, the renowned novelist. 
Look at his trim, neat figure ; his hair done up in the 
most approved manner; his clothes cut in the latest 
fashion. He has been in Parliament twenty-five years. 
Until the abolition of the corn-laws, he was a liberal; 
but as a land-owner he was opposed to free trade, and 
joined the protectionists. He has two country-seats, and 
lives in a style of oriental magnificence that is not 
equalled by any other man in the kingdom ; and often 
gathers around him the brightest spirits of the age, and 
presses them into the service of his private theatre, of 
which he is very fond. In the House of Commons he is 
seldom heard, but is always listened to with profound 
attention when he rises to speak. He labors under 
the disadvantage of partial deafness. He is undoubtedly 
a man of refined taste, and pays a greater attention to 
the art of dress than any other public character I 
have ever seen. He has a splendid fortune, and his 
income from the labors of his pen is very great. His 


title was given to him by the queen, and his rank as a 

baronet he owes to his high literary attainments. Now 
take a farewell view of this assembly of senators. You 
may go to other climes, and look upon the representa- 
tives of other nations, but you will never see the like 


" Take the spade of Perseverance, 
Dig the field of Progress wide ; 
Every bar to true instruction 
Carry out and cast aside." 

The anniversary of West India emancipation was 
celebrated here on Monday last. But little notice of the 
intended meeting had been given, yet the capacious lec- 
ture-room of St. Martin's Hall was filled at an early 
hour with a most respectable audience, who appeared to 
have assembled for the sake of the cause. 

Our old and well-tried friend, Geo. Thompson, Esq., 
was unanimously called to preside, and he opened the 
proceedings with one of his characteristic speeches. The 
meeting was then addressed by the Rev. Wm. Douglass, 
a colored clergyman of Philadelphia, in a most eloquent 
and feeling manner. Mr. Douglass jis a man of fine 
native talent. 

Francis W. Kellogg, of the United States, was the 
next speaker. Mr. Kellogg is an advocate of temper- 
ance, of some note, I believe, in his own country, and 
has been lecturing with considerable success in Great 


Britain. He is one of the most peculiar speakers I have 
ever heard. Born in Massachusetts, and brought up in 
the West, he has the intelligence of the one and the 
roughness of the other. He has the retentive memory 
of Wendell PhillipSj the overpowering voice of Frederick 
Douglass, and the too rapid gestures of Dr. Delany. He 
speaks faster than any man I ever heard, except C. 0. 
Burleigh. Hisspeech, which lasted more than an hour, 
was one stream of fervid eloquence. He gave the audi- 
ence a better idea of a real American stump orator than 
they ever had before. Altogether, he is the best specimen 
of the rough material out of which great public speakers 
are manufactured that I have yet seen. Mr. Kellogg's 
denunciations of Clay and Webster (the dead lion and the 
living dog) reminded us of Wendell Phillips ; his pictures 
of slavery called to memory Frederick Douglass in his 
palmiest days ; and his rebuke of his own countrymen for 
their unchristian prejudice against color brought before 
us the favorite topic and best speeches of 0. L. Bemond. 
It was his maiden speech on the subject of slavery, yet 
it was the speech of the evening. 

Hatred to oppression is so instilled into the minds of 
the people in Great Britain, that it needs but little to 
arouse their enthusiasm to its highest point ; yet they 
can scarcely comprehend the real condition of the slaves 
of the United States. They have heard of the buying 
and selling of men, women and children, without any 
regard to the tenderest ties of nature ; of the passage and 
execution of the infamous Fugitive Slave Law ; and, as we 


walk through the streets of London, they occasionally 
meet an American slave, who reminds them of the fact 
that while their countrymen are boasting of their liberty, 
and offering an asylum to the exiled of other countries, 
they refuse it to their own citizens. 

Much regret has been expressed on this side of the 
Atlantic that Kossuth should have kept so silent on the 
slavery question while in America ; and this act alone 
has, to a great extent, neutralized his further operations 
in this country. He certainly is not the man now that 
he was before his visit to the New World. 

I seldom pass through the Strand, or other great 
thoroughfares of the metropolis, without meeting country- 
men of mine. I encountered one, a short time since, under 
peculiar circumstances. It was one of those days com- 
monly experienced in London, of half cloud and half 
sunshine, with just fog enough to give everything a 
gray appearance, that I was loitering through Drury 
Lane, and came upon a crowd of poor people and street 
beggars, who were being edified by an exhibition of 
Punch and Judy, on the one hand, and an organ- 
grinder, with a well-dressed and intelligent-looking 
monkey, on the other. Punch looked happy, and was 
performing with great alacrity, while the organ-grinder, 
with his loud-toned instrument, was furnishing music for 
the million. Pushing my way through the crowd, and 
takino; the middle of the street for convenience' sake, I 
was leaving the infected district in greater haste than I 
entered it. I had scarcely taken my eyes off the motley 


group, when I observ^ed a figure approaching me from the 
opposite direction, and walking with a somewhat hasty 
step. I have seen so much oddity in dress, and the 
general appearance of members of the human family, that 
my attention is seldom ever attracted by the uncivilized 
look of any one. But this being whom I was meeting, 
and whose appearance was such as I had not seen before, 
threw the monkey and his companions entirely in the 
shade. In fact, all that I had beheld in the Great Exhi- 
bition, of a ludicrous nature, dwindled away into utter 
insignificance when compared to this Robinson Crusoe 
looking man ; for, after all, it turned out to be a man. 
He was of small stature, and, although not a cold day, his 
person was enveloped in a heavy over-coat, which looked 
as if it had seen some service, and had passed through 
the hands of some of the second-hand gentlemen of 
Brattle-street, Boston. The trousers I did not see, as 
they were benevolently covered by the long skirts of the 
above garment. A pair of patent-leather boots covered a 
small foot. The face was entirely hidden by a huge 
beard, apparently from ten to fifteen inches in length, 
and of a reddish color. Long, dark hair joined the beard, 
and upon the head was thrown, in a careless manner, one 
of those hats known in America as the wide-aw^ake, but 
here as the billy-cock. A pair of bright eyes w^ere 
entirely hid by the hair around the face. I was not 
more attracted by his appearance than astonished at the 
man's stopping before me, as if he knew me. I now ob- 
served something like smoke emanating from the long 


beard round the mouth. I was immediately seized by the 
individual by his right hand, while the left hand took 
from his mouth a pipe about three inches in length, stem 
included, and, in a sharp, shrill voice, sounding as if it 
came from the interior of a hogshead or from a sepulchre, 
he called me by my name. I stood for a moment and 
eyed the figure from head to foot, ^^ from top to toe," to 
see if I could discover the resemblance of any one I had 
ever seen before. After satisfying myself that the object 
was new, I said, '' Sir, you have the advantage of me.'^ 
^' Don't you know me 7 '' he exclaimed, in a still louder 
voice. I looked again, and shook my head. '^ Why," 

said he, '^ it is ." I stepped back a few feet, and 

viewed him once more from top to bottom, and replied, 

^'You don't mean to say that this is H. C ?" 

'^ Yes, it is he, and nobody else." After taking another 
look, I said, ^^ An't you mistaken, sir, about this being 
H. C ? " ^' No," said he, ^^ I am sure I know my- 
self." ^ So I very reluctantly had to admit that I was 
standing in presence of the ex-editor of the ^'L. P. and 
H. of F." Indeed, one meets with strange faces in a 
walk through the streets of London. But I must turn 
again to the question of slavery. 

Some . months since a lady, apparently not more than 
fifty years of age, entered a small dwelling on the estate 
of the Earl of Lovelace, situated in the county of ^urrey. 
After ascending a flight of stairs, and passing through a 
narrow passage, she found herself in a small but neat 
room, with plain furniture. On the table lay copies of 


the Liberator and Frederick Douglass'^ Paper, Near 
the window sat a young woman, busily engaged in sew- 
ing, w^ith a spelling-book laying open on her lap. The 
light step of the stranger had not broken the silence 
enough to announce the approach of any one, and the 
young woman still sat at her task, unconscious that any 
one was near. A moment or two, and the lady was ob- 
served, when the diligent student hastily rose, and apolo- 
gized for her apparent inattention. The stranger was 
soon seated, and in conversation with the young woman. 
The lady had often heard the word ^' slave," and knew 
something of its application, but had never before seen 
one of her own sex who had actually been born and 
brought up in a state of chattel slavery ; and the one 
in whose company she now was was so white, and had so 
much the appearance of an educated and well-bred lady, 
that she could scarcely realize that she was in the pres- 
ence of an American slave. For more than an hour the 
iMstrious lady and the poor exile sat and carried on a 
most familiar conversation. The thrilling story of the 
fugitive, often brought tears to the eyes of the stranger. 
0, how I would that every half-bred, aristocratic, 
slave-holding, ^jnan-whipping, negro-hating woman of 
America could '^have been present and heard what passed 
between these tvfo distinguished persons ! They would, 
for once, have seen one who, though moving in the most 
elevated and aristocratic society in Europe, felt it an 
honor to enter the small cottage and take a seat by the 
side of a poor, hunted and exiled American fugitive slave. 


Let it be rung in the ears of the thin-skinued aristocracy 
of the United States, who would rather receive a flogging 
from the cat-o' -nine-tails than to sit at the table of a 
negro, that Lady Noel Byron, widow of the great poet, 
felt it a peculiar pleasure to sit at the table and take tea 
with Ellen Craft. It must, indeed, be an interesting 
fact to the reader, and especially to those who are ac- 
quainted with the facts connected with the life and escape 
of William and Ellen Craft, to know that they are indus- 
trious students in a school, and attracting the attention 
of persons occupying the most influential positions in 
society. The wonderful escape of William and Ellen 
Craft is still fresh in the minds of all who take an inter- 
est in the cause of humanity ; and their eluding the pur- 
suit of the slave-hunters at Boston, and final escape from 
the Athens of the New World, will not be soon forgotten. 
Every American should feel a degree of humiliation 
when the thought occurs to him that there is not a foot 
of soil over which the Stars and Stripes wave upon 
which Ellen Craft can stand and be protected by the 
constitution or laws of the country. Yet Ellen Craft 
is as white as most white women. Had she escaped 
from Austrian tyranny, and landed on the shores of 
America, her reception would have been scarcely less 
enthusiastic than that which greeted the arrival of 
Jenny Lind. But Ellen Craft had the n^isfortune to be 
born in one of the Slave States of the American Union, 
and that was enough to cause her to be driven into exih 
for daring to escape from American despotism. 


-when I left tlie shore. 

The distant shore, which gave me birth, 
I hardly thought to grieve once more, 
To quit another spot on earth." 


What a change five years make in one's history ! 
The summer of 1849 found me a stranger in a foreign 
land, unknown to its inhabitants ; its laws, customs and 
history, were a blank to me. But how different the sum- 
mer of 1854 ! During my sojourn I had travelled over 
nearly every railroad in England and Scotland, and had 
visited Ireland and Wales, besides spending some weeks 
on the continent. I had become so well acquainted with 
the British people and their history, that I had begun to 
fancy myself an Englishman by habit, if not by birth. 
The treatment which I had experienced at their hands 
had endeared them to me, and caused me to feel myself 
at home wherever I went. Under such circumstances, it 
was not strange that I commenced with palpitating heart 
the preparation to return to my native land. Native 
land ! How harshly that word sounds to my ears ! 
True, America was the land of my birth ; my grand- 


father had taken part in her Revolution, had enriched the 
soil with his blood, yet upon this soil I had been worked 
as a slave. I seem still to hear the sound of the auc- 
tioneer's rough voice, as I stood on the block in the 
slave-market at St. Louis. I shall never forget the sav- 
age grin with which he welcomed a higher bid, when he 
thought that he had received the last offer. I had seen 
a mother sold and taken to the cotton-fields of the far 
South ; three brothers had been bartered to the soul- 
driver in my presence ; a dear sister had been sold to the 
negro-dealer, and driven away by him ; I had seen the 
rusty chains fastened upon her delicate wrists ; the whip 
had been applied to my own person, and the marks of 
the brutal driver's lash were still on my body. Yet this 
was my native land, and to this land was I about to 

In Edinburgh, I had become acquainted with the 
Wighams ; in Glasgow, the Patons and Smeals ; in Man- 
chester, the Langdons ; in Newcastle, the Mawsons and 
Richardsons. To Miss Ellen Richardson, of this place, I 
was mainly indebted for the redemption of my body from 
slavery, and the privilege of again returning to my na- 
tive country. I had also met, and become acquainted 
w^ith, John Bishop Estlin, Esq., of Bristol, and his kind- 
hearted and accomplished daughter. Of the hundreds 
of British Abolitionists with whom I had the pleasure of 
shaking hands while abroad, I know of none whose hearts 
beat more fervently for the emancipation of the American 
slave than Mr. Estlin's. He is indeed a model Chris- 


tian. His house, his heart and his purse, were always 
open to the needy, without any regard to sect, color or 
country. When those distinguished fugitive slaves, Wil- 
liam and Ellen Craft, arrived in England, unknown and 
without friends, Mr. Estlin wrote to me and said, ^'If 
the Crafts are in want, send to me. If you cannot find 
a home for them, let them come to Bristol, and I will 
keep them, at my expense, until something better turns 
up." And nobly did he keep his word. He put the 
two fugitives in school, and saw that they did not want 
for the means of support. I have known him to keep 
concealed what he had given to benevolent objects. To 
Mr. Estlin I am indebted for many acts of kindness ; and 
now that the broad Atlantic lies between us, and in all 
probability we shall never again meet on earth, it is with 
heartfelt gratitude and pleasure that I make this men- 
tion of him. 

And last, though not the least, I had become inti- 
mate with that most generous-hearted philanthropist, 
George Thompson, who never feels so well as when giv- 
ing a welcome to an American fugitive slave. I had 
spent hours at the hospitable firesides of Harriet Mar- 
tineau, E. D. Webb, and other distinguished authors. 
You will not, reader, think it strange that my heart be- 
came sad at the thought of leaving all these dear friends, 
to return to a country in which I had spent some of the 
best days of my life as a slave, and where I knew that 
prejudice would greet me on my arrival. 

Most of the time I had resided in London. Its streets, 


parks, public buildings and its fog, bad become ^'as 
familiar as household words.'' I had heard the deep, 
bass voice of the Bishop of London, in St. Paul's Cathe- 
dral. I had sat in Westminster Abbey, until I had lost 
all interest in the services, and then wandered about 
amongst the monuments, reading the epitaphs placed 
over the dead. Like others, I had been locked in the 
Temple Church, and compelled to wait till service was 
over, whether I liked it or not. I had spent days in the 
British Museum and National Gallery, and in all these 
I had been treated as a man. The ''negro pew," which 
I had seen in the churches of America, was not to be 
found in the churches of London. There, too, were my 
daughters. They who had been denied education upon 
equal terms with children of a fairer complexion, in the 
United States, had been received in the London schools 
upon terms of perfect equality. They had accompanied 
me to most of the noted places in the metropolis. We 
had strolled through Eegent-street, the Strand, Picca- 
dilly and Oxford-street, so often, that sorrow came over 
me as the thought occurred to me that I should never 
behold them again. 

Then the English manner of calling on friends before 
one's departure. I can meet an enemy with pleasure, 
but it is with regret that I part with a friend. As the 
time for me to leave drew near, I felt more clearly my 
identity with the English people. By and by the last 
hour arrived that I was to spend in London. The cab 
stood at the door, with my trunks on its top ; and; bid- 


ding the household^' good-by," I entered the vehicle, 
the driver raised his whip, and I looked for the last time 
on my old home in Cecil-street. As we turned into the 
Strand, Nelson's monument, in Trafalgar-square, greeted 
me on the left, and Somerset House on the right. I 
took a farewell look at Covent Garden Market, through 
whose walks I had often passed, and where I had spent 
many pleasant hours. My youngest daughter was in 
France, but the eldest met me at the depot, and after a 
few moments the bell rang, and away we went. 

As the train was leaving the great metropolis of the 
world behind, I caught a last view of the dome of St. 
Paul's, and the old pile of Westminster Abbey. 

In every town through which we passed on our way to 
Liverpool I could call to mind the name of some one 
whose acquaintance I had made, and whose hospitality I 
had shared. The steamer City of Manchester had her 
fires kindled when we arrived, and we went immediately 
on board. We found one hundred and seventy-five pas- 
sengers in the cabin, and above five hundred in the 
steerage. After some delay, the ship weighed anchor, 
the machinery was put in motion, and, bidding Liverpool 
a long farewell, the vessel moved down the Mersey, and 
was in a short time out at sea. The steam tender accom- 
panied the ship about thirty miles, during which time 
search was made throughout the Manchester to see that 
no '' stow-aways " were on board. No vessel ever leaves 
an English port without some one trying to get his pas- 
sage out without pay. When the crew are at work, or 


not on the 'watch, these persons come on board, hide 
themselves under the berths in the steerage cabin, or 
amongst the freight, until the vessel is out to sea, and 
then they come out. As they are always poor persons, 
without either baggage or money, they succeed in get- 
ting their passage without giving anything in return. As 
the tender was about quitting us to return to Liverpool, 
it came along-side to take on board those who had come 
with the vessel to see their friends off. Any number of 
/ white napkins were called into requisition, as friends 
were shaking hands with each other, and renewing their 
promises to write by the first post. One young man 
had come out to spend a few more hours with a hand- 
some Scotch lass, with whom he, no doubt, had a matri- 
monial engagement. Another, an English lady, seemed 
much affected when the last bell of the tender rung, and 
the captain cried ^'All on board." Having no one to 
look after, I found time to survey others. The tender let 
go her cables amid three hearty cheers, and a deafening 
salute from the two-pounder on board the City of Man- 
chester. A moment more, and the two steamers were 
leaving each other with rapid speed. The two young 
ladies of whom I have already made mention, together 
w^ith many others, had their faces buried in their hand- 
kerchiefs, and appeared to be dying with grief. How- 
ever, all of them seemed to get over it very soon. On 
the second day out at sea I saw the young English lady 
walking the quarter-deck with a fine-looking gentleman, 
and holding as tightly to his arm as if she had left no 


one behind ; and as for the Scotch lass, she was seated on 
a settee with a countryman of hers, who had made her ac- 
quaintance on board, and, from all appearance, had entirely 
forgotten her first love, ^uch is the waywardness of man 
and woman, and the unfaithfulness of the human heart. 

In the latter part of the second day a storm overtook, 
us, and for the ten succeeding days we scarcely knew 
whether we were on our heads or our heels. The 
severest part of the gale was on the eighth and ninth 
nights out. On one of those evenings a fellow-room- 
mate came in and said, ^' If you wish to see a little fun, 
go into the forward steerage." It was about eight 
o'clock, and most of the passengers were either in bed, 
or preparing for the night's rest, such as is to be had on 
board a ship in a gale of wind. This cabin contained 
about two hundred and fifty persons; some Germans, 
some Irish, and twenty-five or thirty Gypsies. Forty 
or fifty of these were on their knees in their berths, en- 
gaged in prayer. No camp-meeting ever presented a 
more noisy spectacle than did this cabin. The ship was 
rolling, and the sea running mountains high, and many 
of these passengers had given up all hope of ever seeing 
land again. The Gypsies were foremost amongst those 
who were praying ; indeed, they seemed to fancy them- 
selves in a camp-meeting, for many of them shouted at 
the top of their voices. One of them, known as the 
^^ Queen of the Gypsies," came to me and said, ^' 0, Mas- 
ter ! do get down and help us to ask God to stop the 
wind ! You are a black man ; may be he '11 pay more 


attention to what you say. Now do, master, do ! and 
when the storm is over I will tell your fortune for 
nothing." At this juncture one of the chests which had 
been fastened to the floor broke away from its moorings, 
and came sliding across the cabin at the rate of about 
twenty miles per hour ; soon another got loose, and these 
two locomotives broke up the prayer-meeting. Trunk 
after trunk became unfastened, until some eight or ten 
were crossing the cabin every time the vessel went over. 
At last the loose boxes upset the tables, on which were 
some of the passengers' eatables, and in a short time the 
whole cabin was in splendid confusion. The lamps, one 
after another, were knocked down and extinguished, so 
that the cabin was in total darkness. As I turned to 
retrace my steps, I heard the company joining in the 
prayer, and I was informed the next day that it was 
kept up during most of the night. 

With all the watchfulness on the day of sailing, sev- 
eral persons succeeded in stowing themselves away. First 
one came out, and then another, until not less than five 
made their appearance on deck. As fast as these men 
were discovered they were put to work ; so that labor, if 
not money, might be obtained for their passage. On the 
sixth day out I missed a small leather trunk, and search 
was immediately made in every direction, but no tidings 
of it could be found. However, after its being lost two 
days, I offered a reward for its recovery, and it was soon 
found, hid away in the forecastle. It had been broken 
open, and a few things, together with a little money, had 


been taken. The ships Chieftain and Harmony were the 
only vessels we met during the first ten days. An ice- 
berg made its appearance while we were on the banks, 
but it was some distance to the larboard. 

After a longi passage of twenty days we arrived at the 
mouth of the Delaware, and took a pilot on board. The 
passengers were now all life ; the Irish were basking in 
the sun, the Germans were singing, and the Gypsies 
were dancing. Some fifteen miles below Philadelphia, 
the ofiicers came on board, to see that no sickness was on 
the vessel ; and, after being passed by the doctors, each 
person began to get his luggage on deck, and prepare to 
go on shore. About four o'clock, on the twenty-sixth 
day of September, 1854, the City of Manchester hauled 
alongside the Philadelphia wharf, and the passengers all 
on the move ; the Scotch lass clinging to the arm of 
her new Highland laddie, and the young English lady in 
company with her ^' fresh " lover. It is a dangerous 
thing to allow the Atlantic Ocean to separate one from 
his or her ^^affectionate friend." The City of Manches- 
ter, though not a fast steamer, is, nevertheless, a safe 
one. Her ofiicers are men of experience and activity. 
Captain Wyly was always at his post ; the first ofiicer 
was an able seaman, and Mr. John Mirehouse, the sec- 
ond officer, was a mo^t gentlemanly and obliging, as well 
as experienced officer. To this gentleman I am much 
indebted for kind attention shown me on the voyage. I 
had met him on a former occasion at Whitehaven. He 
is a stanch friend of humanity. 


At Philadelphia I met with a most cordial reception 
at the hands of the Motts, J. M. M'Kim, the Stills, the 
FortenSj and that distinguished gentleman and friend of 
the slave, Robert Purvis, Esq. There is no colored man 
in this country to whom the Anti-slavery cause is more 
indebted than to Mr. Purvis. Endowed with a capa- 
cious and reflective mind, he is ever in search after 
truth ; and, consequently, all reforms find in him an 
able and devoted advocate. Inheriting a large fortune, 
he has had the means, as well as the will, to do good. 
Few men in this country, either colored or white, possess 
the rare accomplishments of Robert Purvis. In no city 
in the Free States does the Anti-slavery movement have 
more bitter opponents than in Philadelphia. Close to 
two of our Southern States, and connected as it is in a 
commercial point of view, it could scarcely be otherwise. 
Colorphobia is more rampant there than in the pro- 
slavery, negro-hating city of New York. I was not 
destined to escape this unnatural and anti-christian preju- 
dice. While walking through Chestnut-street, in company 
with two of my fellow-passengers, we hailed an omnibus 
going in the direction which we wished to go. It imme- 
diately stopped, and the white men were furnished with 
seats, but I was told that '^ We don't allow niggers to 
ride in here.'' It so happened that these two persons 
had rode in the same car with me from London to Liv- 
erpool. We had put up at the same hotel at the latter 
place, and had crossed the Atlantic in the same steamer. 
But as soon as we touch the soil of America we can no 


longer ride in tlie same conveyancCj no longer eat at the 
same table, or be regarded with equal justice, by our 
thin-skinned democracj. During five years' residence 
in monarchical Europe I had enjoyed the rights allowed 
to all foreigners in the countries through which I passed ; 
but on returning to my native land the influence of 
slavery meets me the first day that I am in the country. 
Had I been an escaped felon, like John Mitchell, no one 
would have questioned my right to a seat in a Phila- 
delphia omnibus. Neither of the foreigners who were 
allowed to ride in this carriage had ever visited our 
country before. The constitution of these United States 
was as a. blank to them ; the Declaration of Independ- 
ence, in all probability, they had never seen,— much less, 
read. But what mattered it? They vfere white, and 
that was enough. The fact of my being an American 
by birth could not be denied ; that I had read and un- 
derstood the constitution and laws, the most pro-slavery, 
negro-hating professor of Christianity would admit : but 
I was colored, and that was enough, I had partaken 
of the hospitality of noblemen in England, had sat at 
tlie table of the French Minister of Foreign Affairs ; 
I had looked from the strangers' gallery down upon the 
great legislators of England, as they sat in the House of 
Commons ; I had stood in the House of Lords, when 
Her Britannic Majesty prorogued her Parliament ; I had 
eaten at the same table with Sir Edward Bulwer Lyt= 
ton, Charles Dickens, Eliza Cook, Alfred Tennyson, and 
the son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott : the omnibuses of 


PariSj Edinburghj Glasgow and Liverpool, had stopped to 
take me up ; I had often entered the ^'Caledonia,'' 
^ ^ Bayswater, " ' ' Hammersmith, " ' ' Chelsea, " ^ ^ Blue- 
bell," and other omnibuses that rattle over the pave- 
ments of Regent-street, Cheapside, and the west end of 
London,- — but what mattered that? My face was not 
white, my hair was not straight ; and, therefore, I must 
be excluded from a seat in a third-rate American omni- 
bus. Slavery demanded that it should be so. I charge 
this prejudice to the pro-slavery pulpits of our land, 
which first set the example of proscription by erecting in 
their churches the ^' negro pew.'^ I charge it to that 
hypocritical profession of democracy which will welcome 
fugitives from other countries, and drive its own into 
exile. I charge it to the recreant sons of 'the men who 
carried on the American revolutionary war, and who 
come together every fourth of July to boast of what 
their fathers did, while they, their sons, have become 
associated with bloodhounds, to be put at any moment on 
the track of the fugitive slave. 

But I had returned to the country for the express 
purpose of joining in the glorious battle against slavery, 
of which this Negrophobia is a legitimate offspring. And 
why not meet it in its stronghold ? I might have re- 
mained in a country where my manhood was never 
denied ; I might have remained in ease in other climes ; 
but what was ease and comfort abroad, while more than 
three millions of my countrymen were groaning in the 
prison-house of slavery in the Southern States ? Yes, I 


eame back to the land of my nativity, not to be a spec- 
tator, but a soldiei' — a soldier in this moral warfare 
against the most cruel system of oppression that ever 
blackened the character or hardened the heart of man. 
And the smiles of my old associates, and the approval 
of my course ^ile abroad by my colored fellow-citi- 
zens, has amply compensated me for the twenty days' 
rough passage on my return. 


** While all the world is reading « Uncle Tom's Cabin,' it is quite pos- 
sible that what a real fugitive slave has to say for himself may meet 
with less attention than it deserves. Mr. Brown's book is pleasingly 
written."— The Critic, Dec. 16, 1852. 

" When he writes on the wrongs of his race, or the events of his own 
career, he is always interesting or amusing."— TAe AthencBum^ l^oVo 
15, 1852. 

** The appearance of this book is too remarkable a literary event to 
pass without a notice. At the moment when attention in this country is 
directed to the state of the colored people in America, the book appears 
with additional advantage ; if nothing else were attained by its pub- 
lication, it is well to have another proof of the capability of the negro 
intellect. Altogether, Mr. Brown has written a pleasing and amusing 
volume. Contrasted with the caricature and bombast of his white coun- 
tryman Mr. Willis' description of * People he has Met,' a comparison 
suggested by the similarity of the title, it is both in intellect and in 
style a superior performance, and we are glad to bear this testimony to 
the literary merit of a work by a negro author." — The Literary Gazette, 
Oct. 2, 1852. 

" That a man who was a slave for the first twenty years of his life, 
and who has never had a day's schooling, should produce such a book 
as this, cannot but astonish those who speak disparagingly of the Afri- 
can race." — The Weekly News and Chronicle, Sept. 6, 1852. 

" It is something new for a self-educated slave to publish such a work, 



It is really wonderful how one v/ho has had to surmount so many diffi- 
culties in his literary career should have been able to produce a volume 
of so sparkling a character. The author is personally known to many 
of our readers, and, therefore, we need not enlarge respecting his abili- 
ties or his merits. We recommend them to procure his book, and are 
induced to do so by the consideration that his main object in bringing 
out the work is to enable him to educate his family ; an object at ail 
times honorable and praiseworthy, but in one occupying the position 
of William Wells Brown eminently commendable, and in which every 
friend of humanity must wish him success." — British Friend, Aug. 1852. 

*< This remarkable book of a remarkable man cannot fail to add to the 
practical protests already entered in Britain against the absolute bond- 
age of three millions of our fellow-creatures. The impressions of a self- 
educated son of slavery, here set forth, must hasten the period when the 
senseless and impious denial of common claims to a common humanity, 
on the score of color, shall be scouted with scorn in every civilized and 
Christian country. And when this shall be attained, among the means 
of destruction of the hideous abomination his compatriots will remem- 
ber with respect and gratitude the doings and sayings of William Wells 
Brown. The volume consists of a sujGTicient variety of scenes, persons, 
arguments, inferences, speculations and opinions, to satisfy and amuse 
the most exigeant of those who read pour se desennuyer; while those who 
look deeper into things, and view with anxious hope the progress of 
nations and of mankind, will feel that the good cause of humanity and 
freedom, of Christianity, enlightenment and brotherhood, cannot fail to 
be served by such a book as this." — Morning Advertiser, Sept. 10, 1852. 

** He writes with ease and ability, and his intelligent observations 
upon the great ciuestion to which he has devoted and is devoting his 
life will be read with interest, and will command influence and respect." 
— Daily News, Sept. 2-4, 1852. 

" The extraordinary excitement produced by * Uncle Tom's Cabin ' 
will, we hope, prepare the public of Great Britain and America for this 
lively book of travels by a real fugitive slave. Though he never had a 
day's schooling in his life, he has produced a literary work not unwor- 
thy of a highly-educated gentleman. Our readers will find in these let- 
ters much instruction, not a little entertainment, and the beatings of a 


manly heart, on behalf of a down-trodden race, with which they will not 
fail to sympathize." — The Eclectic Review, Nov. 1852. 

" We have read this book with an unusual measure of interest. Sel- 
dom, indeed, have we met with anything more captivating. It somehow 
happens that all these fugitive slaves are persons of superior talents. 
The pith of the volume consists in narratives of voyages and journeys 
made by the author in England, Scotland, Ireland and France ; and we 
can assure our readers that Mr. Brown has travelled to some purpose. 
The number of white men is not great who could have made more of the 
many things that came before them. There is in the work a vast 
amount of quotable matter, which, but for want of space, we should be 
glad to extract. As the volume, however, is published with a view to 
promote the benefit of the interesting fugitive, we deem it better to give 
a general opinion, by v/hich curiosity may be whetted, than to gratify it 
by large citation. A book more worth the money has not, for a consid- 
erable time, come into our hands." — British Banner, Dec. 15, 1852. 

" Three Years ix Europe. — The remarkable man who is the author 
of this work is not unknown to many of our readers. He was received 
with kindness in this city, and honored with various marks of respect 
by many eminent characters in the sister country. Since his arrival 
Mr. Brown has contributed much to the press ; and the work before us, 
though small and unpretending, is of a high character, and evinces a 
superior and cultivated mind." — Dublin General Advertiser, October 
30, 1852. 

" This is a thrilling book, independent of adventitious circumstances, 
which will enhance its popularity. The author of it is not a man in 
America, but a chattel, a thing to be bought, and sold, and whipped: 
but in Europe he is an author, and a successful one, too. He gives in 
this book an interesting and graphic description of a three years' resi- 
dence in Europe. The book will no doubt obtain,^as it well deserves, a 
rapid and wide popularity."— Glasgovj Examiner. 

" The above is the title of an intelligent and otherwise well-written 
book, in which the author details, in a pleasing and highlj^-interesting 
manner, an account of places he has seen and people he has met; and we 
take much pleasure in recommending it to our readers."— Weekly 

B20 OPINIONS or the British press. 

" This is an interesting volume, ably written, bearing on every page 
the impress of honest purpose and noble aspiration. One is amused by 
the well-told anecdotes, and charmed with the painter-like descriptions 
of towns, cities and natural scenery. Indeed, our author gives many 
very recognizable sketches of the place's he has seen and people he has 
met. His three years in Europe have been well spent. The work will 
be appreciated by all the friends of the negro." — The Leader, 

*' W. Wells Brown is no ordinary man, or he could not have so 
remarkably surmounted the many difficulties and impediments of his 
training as a slave. By dint of resolution, self-culture and force of char- 
acter, he has rendered himself a popular lecturer to a British audience, 
and vigorous expositor of the evils and atrocities of that system whose 
chains he has shaken off so triumphantly and forever. We may safely 
pronounce William Wells Brown a remarkable man, and a full refuta- 
tion of the doctrine of the inferiority of the negro." — Glasgow Citizen, 

" We can assure those who are inclined to take up this volume that 
they will find it written with commendable care, as well as fluency, and 
will derive much pleasure from a perusal of it." — Bristol Mercury, 

** The profound Anti-slavery feeling produced by * Uncle Tom's Cabin ' 
needed only such a book as this, which shows so forcibly the powers 
and capacity of the negro intellect, to deepen the impression. The work 
certainly exhibits a most favorable contrast to the more ambitious pro- 
ductions of many of his white countrymen, N. P. Willis among others." 
— Caledonian Mercury.